


The Knight of Faerie

by Dreamicide



Series: The Knight of Faerie [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Autistic Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Keith (Voltron), Dragon Shiro (Voltron), Fae & Fairies, Fae Keith (Voltron), Fae Magic, Fae Shiro (Voltron), Gay Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Seelie Court, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unseelie Court
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamicide/pseuds/Dreamicide
Summary: Once, when Keith was a child, he got lost in the woods. A mysterious horned knight saved him and led him back home. Keith doesn’t know if the knight is a dream, but he always considers the man to be his first love.Years and years later, he finds the knight again, and saves his life. In return, the knight offers Keith one deed. As Keith figures out what to do, he gets caught in a fantastical world that threatens to spirit him away from all he knows.
Relationships: Allura/Lotor (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: The Knight of Faerie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111211
Comments: 38
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited about this story. [It already has a fan soundtrack.](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8xOJorZTotjiWCwIwX7H7Q6FPjFz_GK) I’ll probably update it periodically.

_I tried to warn you when you were a child  
_ _I told you not to get lost in the wild_

The Yawning Grave, Lord Huron

*

Keith Yorak Knight only meant to explore the small creek near his pa’s shack. He had wanted to play with the tadpoles and pull apart moss, but his father was exhausted from an overnight shift and fell asleep almost as soon as he walked in the door. As he tucked a blanket over his pa, Keith decided he was old enough and brave enough to go out on his own, just for a little bit. He had put on his yellow rubber boots and closed the door quietly on his way out.

The creek is not very far, but Keith’s father never let him venture off alone. Looking up through the trees, sunlight filters through the leaves to warm his face as Keith steps over gnarled roots and wet foliage. Without his father, the world seems bigger than before. 

On every other tree is a line of twine tied around the trunk, to lead the way. Keith follows the threaded path until he hears the gently curling waters, and smiles to himself. Maybe his dad will be proud of him. The thought brings a skip to his step as he reaches the creek and draws out a small mason jar from his tiny coat. He will need proof he was here. 

Keith spends the afternoon stomping in the water and turning over rocks, looking for something to bring back home. The tadpoles are small and squirm out of his stubby fingers. Bugs hop or fly away before he can get close enough to them. Keith once fancies a bird on the ground, before discovering that it is dead and decomposing, with bones sticking out and ants marching in line to feast. 

The little boy is about to give up on bringing anything meaningful to his father and just settle on a mushroom, when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. Over by a slight waterfall, no taller than his knees, lies a salamander on a small boulder. It lets the water gently wash over it, keeping its spotted skin nice and moist. 

Keith’s eyes practically sparkle in excitement. Carefully, without looking away, Keith bends down and gathers some sticks and leaves to put in the mason jar, before filling it up halfway with fresh creek water. Pa will be so proud of Keith. Maybe he will even let Keith keep it as a pet. Keith had always wanted a pet. Sometimes he heard wolves howling outside and asked his father if he could go outside and make friends with one, but his pa patiently told him no every time. Wolves were wild animals, and belonged in the wild. 

So are salamanders, but they are much smaller than wolves, and Keith rather thinks his mason jar would make it a lovely home. 

He creeps closer to the salamander. The creature does not move. Keith wonders if it is asleep. 

Only when he reaches out does the salamander react. With its stubby, slimy legs it jumps into action, wriggling away from the curious child. Keith leaps after it, slapping his hand where the salamander was moments before. The creature writhes into the crack of two boulders, and Keith races after it, splashing about in the water. Keith reaches in as far as he can into the crevice and—yes! His little hand wraps around the salamander, and he draws it out for a closer look. The salamander flails wildly in his grip but Keith holds on tight, perhaps too tight, for it looks like it is struggling to breathe. Thinking quickly, Keith drops the salamander into the mason jar and twists the lid shut tight. 

The salamander swims around in circles, looking for a way out. Keith holds up the jar and grins. 

Won’t his pa be so impressed!

The thought barely finishes before Keith looks up and notices the light through the trees is a dusky orange. It is late. But how did it get so late? Keith swears it was morning not too long ago. 

Either way, he needs to go back home. Clutching the mason jar close to his chest, Keith meanders his way out of the creek and looks for the first set of twined trees.

He finds one, and even two. Keith hums to himself as he brushes a hand along the bark of the trunks. The salamander sways to and fro in the water from his steps. 

It is getting dark far too fast. Keith can’t see the next tree tied with twine. He stops in place. His pa told him to stay put if he ever got lost. 

But how will his pa find him out here?

Keith heads on. 

*

Trees. A fallen over log. A stump, smattered with white mushrooms. A small pond, glistening with the light of the moon. 

Keith doesn't recognise any of it! 

An owl hoots from above. Crickets chirp. Frogs croak. A twig snaps somewhere in the distance. Is something coming to get him?

With a whimper, Keith runs. He passes by more of the same looking trees, yellow boots crunching the foliage, and he ducks below low hanging branches. The salamander can do nothing but hang on for the ride. Keith clutches the mason jar tight to his chest. 

The moon peeks through the branches, but it is nowhere near enough light for Keith to see on his own. He makes his way around an outcropping of rocks, and then… 

The trees seem to disperse all at once. One moment he is in the thick of the copse, barely able to take a step without brushing against bark, and the next he draws out into a wide open space. 

Keith finds himself in a meadow. 

The moon shines brighter than ever, illuminating the soft green grass swaying like the waves of the ocean. Flowers dot in patches, their petals fluttering in the wind. The bees are asleep, and in their place are hundreds of fireflies flickering about. The air is quiet here. Keith feels a slow calm as he hesitantly steps out from the woods. Then he spots something. 

In the middle of the meadow is a hill, so steep it towers above all of the trees surrounding it. Keith has to crane his neck to see the top. The grassy slope is peppered with rocks and rotting logs, boulders big enough to climb onto. 

Hope rises in Keith’s chest. Maybe, if he makes it to the top of the hill, he will be able to see his home! 

Emboldened, Keith runs out into the meadow and begins his ascent. He holds the mason jar with one arm while the other balances himself as he scampers up the deep slope. Once or twice he slips on a muddy patch, dirtying his knees, but he gets up and keeps going with determination. His little lungs pant with exertion. The salamander sloshes around in the jar. 

When he’s about halfway up the hill, his right leg gets caught in a hole. Keith trips, dropping the jar. He grabs for it before it can roll away. After gathering his bearings, Keith pulls at his leg. Nothing. He pulls again. He can feel it breaking free from root and dirt, so Keith kicks and wriggles as strongly as he can, and after a few long panicked moments his leg breaks free. Keith falls over with relief, sporting angry red scratches along his leg to show for it. 

It’s only when he’s finally free that he notices something weird about this hole. He creeps closer, taking care not to touch the edge, and feels warm air gently blowing on his face. It carries the scent of a feast. Roasted meats, cooked vegetables, and even sugary pastries. As if that wasn’t strange enough, Keith also picks up music coming from below. 

A pounding drum, the lilt of flutes, voices singing, the stomping of feet. 

It’s coming from the hole. 

Eyes wide, Keith leans over the edge. He doesn’t see the salamander looking through the jar with a lucid stare, its tiny hands on the glass. 

Something rumbles. 

The hole suddenly expands, opening like a mouth, with vines and rocks instead of teeth. 

Keith tries to escape, but he cannot.

He falls in. 

*

He tumbles, tumbles, tumbles down. 

Roots and leaves scratch at his face. Dirt slides with his legs. The salamander spins round and round inside the jar. 

Keith is too frightened to scream. He clutches at the mason jar, desperate just to hold onto something, and his little body rolls in its plummet. His stomach somersaults with a sickening pace. He feels like he falls for hours. 

Suddenly he bursts out of the chute, spilling onto the floor of a large room. Dirt trickles down from the hole in the ceiling and onto his clothes. Head spinning, Keith gathers to his feet on shaky legs. He scans his surroundings, mouth hanging open as he takes in the scenery. 

He stands inside a large kitchen. Open hearths roast pigs and clay ovens line against the walls, flames licking inside. Dried herbs hang over tables where an assortment of people chop vegetables or grind spices in mortars and pestles. Pots, pans, ladles, and all kinds of instruments decorate the walls. A pile of wine barrels sits in a corner. 

Keith watches, spellbound. He’s in a kitchen, but he’s still inside the hill. The walls are made of tightly packed dirt, and roots dangle from the ceiling. The air is warm and stuffy from the trapped heat, ventilated only by a few small holes in the walls. 

One such hole of which Keith just fell through. 

A woman stirs a cauldron full of broth and various grotesque parts. Her apron is stained from preparing foods, and her face is red and glowing from the heat. Keith steps forward, a question on his lips, when the woman straightens and walks away, and Keith nearly drops his mason jar in shock. 

The woman has legs like a goat! In place of shoes there are black hooves, and a stumpy gray tail whips back and forth from beneath her apron. 

Keith barely has time to process this before another creature passes by, this one with a single large eye in the center of their face. A man with green skin and mandibles in place of a mouth draws out a soufflé from one of the clay ovens. A tiny girl, no bigger than Keith’s head, flutters amongst the crowd with wings like a butterfly, sprinkling pinches of flour over dough. She giggles before tossing a fistful over the head of one of the workers, a boy skinnier than any skeleton with too many fingers. 

Suddenly, a voice booms. 

“DISGRACEFUL WRETCH!”

Keith jumps.

A large fat woman with horns of an ibex sprouting out of golden curling hair stomps up to Keith, a dough roller clutched in her fist. She waves it angrily at him. 

“What do you think you’re doing in my kitchen? Are you the one who has been stealing my tarts?”

Keith is too terrified to speak. He clutches the mason jar with the salamander tight to his chest.

“Speak, you slimy toad! Or shall I take your tongue right out of your mouth, since you’re so keen to let it go unused?” The woman seethes, then gives pause. “Wait a minute…” 

She sniffs the air. 

Her black eyes narrow. 

“A human? There’s a _human_ in my kitchen?” 

She bares her teeth. Her sharp, sharp teeth.

Keith runs. 

He flees through the legs of workers and beneath tables. The monster woman cries in outrage, but he doesn’t dare look back. He stumbles over a crate of apples, sending them rolling across the floor, before scrambling to his feet and sprinting on. No one else seems to notice his presence; they are all far too busy with their work. Keith runs past plates of succulent venison with blackberry sauce; roast quail in rhubarb; raw dove hearts stabbed with toothpicks; extremely fresh snails tossed in pink salt; baked yams with cinnamon and butter; honey and lavender bread; juicy fruit tarts tucked in warm flaky crusts; rich, nutty walnuts dipped in chocolates; and a pastry tower as high as the eye can see. 

They are all lined up in a row, and at the very end is a ginormous ornate golden double door. A burly monster with thorns for a smile pushes out a cart filled with fruits—pomegranates and nectarines and peaches and star fruits—and Keith slips behind, avoiding getting kicked by legs thick as tree trunks. 

As soon as he clears the threshold, he resumes running as fast as he can. 

He’s greeted with a blast of music. Whimsical and flighty, a band plays before a grand hall of party-goers. More people who are far too strange to be people dance in circles, their leaf dresses fluttering and bare feet pounding the dirt floor. 

For a brief moment, Keith has the strange urge to dance with them. 

The thought is broken by the thunderous roar of the monster woman, and Keith jumps. He dashes on. 

Keith flies between kicking legs and crawls underneath tables. He drops the mason jar once, making it crack, but grabs it again. His heart pounds in his ears. He hears comments as he passes by. 

“… our king… long since wanted… territory…”

“… great battle… celebrate…”

“Perhaps… promotion…”

“… champion… remains undefeated…” 

Keith grows more panicked the longer he runs, unable to find a way out. The only ventilation holes are in the top of the ceiling. There are no other doors. No windows. Not even a ladder. 

He turns his head to look for the monster woman when he collides into someone’s legs. He falls back hard on his rump to the cold dirt floor. Shaking, Keith glances up to find a man staring down at him. His silver eyes are cold, and something sprouts from above his eyebrows, curling over his head. Keith realizes they are horns. His ears are pointed sharp. He’s dressed in armor like the kind in story books, a purple so deep it’s almost black, and with thorns jutting out at every joint. An angry looking symbol punctuates his chest piece.

But the strangest sight of all is the iron band across his face. The thin metal clasps tight over his skin, smithed to fit perfectly over the bridge of his nose. His skin is scarred and pink around it. 

Keith doesn’t like the metal band. He wants to get far away from it. 

“There you are, piece of dying flesh!”

The monster woman grabs Keith by the hair and pulls him up to his feet. Keith winces, jerking away. 

“Utherd! What is the meaning of this? Why are you out of your station?” A man with purple skin and furry ears, wearing the same armor as the man with the iron band, appears from the crowd. His one eye narrows at the woman. 

“M-my Lord Sendak,” the woman gasps. She releases Keith’s hair to bow to the man. “Forgive me. I found this human in my kitchen, and needed to rid our grand halls of this pest.”

Lord Sendak’s eyebrows raise. “A human? That’s impossible; our druids set charms around the perimeter that only allows Unseelie to pass.”

“Which makes this party dreadfully boring, I must say,” drawls a passing creature, a cat-faced being with horns of a ram. “For what is a revel without a human or two to have fun with? Who will we make dance until they bleed? Stuff Faerie fruit down their greedy gullets? Lull them to sleep for seven years?” 

The cat pauses, sensing Lord Sendak’s glare. “My apologies,” they say. Then, “is that a human?”

“Did someone say human?” asks a woman with rabbit’s ears.

“Oh, is there a human here? How delightful!” says a voice belonging to someone Keith cannot see. 

“A human! Oakweed, Bris, come look!”

A vein in Lord Sendak’s forehead throbs. “Macidus will hear about this,” he growls, before turning sharply away with his cape fluttering behind him. “Do with the thing what you will.”

A crowd gathers around Keith, all strange beings cooing and hemming and hawing. The man with the iron band doesn’t move from his spot. 

“Adorable rat, oh, Mama, won’t you let me keep him?” says a girl with blue skin and gills on her neck.

“Don’t be silly, Brine, we will suck the fluids from his liver,” says a woman with scales.

“If you get his liver, then I want his eyes!” calls out a skinny man with flaxseed hair. “Will you look at the color? I’ve never seen such beauty.”

“I want to gnaw the marrow from his bone.”

“Do you see that flawless peachy skin? Far too good for a human to have. Oh, my tanner hasn’t been used in so long; he would make such a lovely addition to my throw rug!”

“I want his eyelashes!”

“I still say we keep him as a pet!” the blue girl says with a pout. 

“Look!” A claw swipes Keith’s mason jar from his hands. “It seeks to capture one of our very own!”

Keith reaches for the jar, but the monster holds it out of his reach. The salamander shivers in its prison. 

“Wait a minute, I know this one,” says a creature with an alligator face. It grabs the mason jar with scaly hands. “Firelips, you sneaky scoundrel! That glamour may fool some, but not me!” With a wave of his hand, the very air around the salamander seems to ripple and shimmer. Then, in place of the salamander, is a red lizard, eyes wide in fear.

“Escaping your debts by fleeing court, eh? Well no more. I shall take payment with what you hold most dear!” With a laugh, the alligator twists open the mason jar, and raises the rim to his lips. 

The lizard blasts a plume of fire from its mouth in defense, but it cannot stop the inevitable. With a gulp, the lizard disappears into the alligator’s mouth.

Keith can’t take it anymore.

He starts to cry. 

It starts as little hiccoughs, his chest feeling too small for his lungs. His eyes burn, and tears fall down his cheeks. He wants to curl up into a little ball. He wants to explode. He wants out. Out. Out. OUT. 

He wails, the sound ripping from his deepest agony. 

The creatures around him step back, some of them covering their ears with their hands. 

“Oh, now I remember what I hate about little children,” says the cat with horns. 

Keith can’t speak around the stone in his throat. He just cries, and cries, and cries. His clothes itch. His yellow boots are too tight for his feet. He wants to kick them off. He wants to kick anything. 

“Someone quiet that thing!” moans the blue girl.

Someone places a gentle hand on the top of his head. Fingers skate through his hair. The person murmurs something, and it’s like the blanket of distress slips away to the floor. The fog dissipates. Keith can breathe again.

He looks up with a sniffle. The silver eyes of the iron banded knight meet his own. 

“I will take this child,” the knight says, his voice deep and smooth like the stone of a river. 

The crowd makes sounds of protest. 

“But I saw him first!”

“I already called his eyes!”

“The Champion will just eat him whole!” 

“ _Silence_ ,” the knight—the Champion—hisses. His glare pierces through every member of the gathering. “I am the first one this child touched.”

“Firelips notwithstanding, apparently,” mutters a creature. 

“ _And_ I am the one who calmed the human,” the Champion continues. “Therefore I have the rightful claim to do with this child whatever I wish.”

The crowd groans at the loss. 

“He’s not going to leave anything for us,” a monster whines. 

“The King grants him far too many freedoms for a prisoner, methinks,” says another. 

“That iron band is not enough of a cage,” the former agrees. 

The Champion ignores these quips in favor of scooping Keith up into his hold. Supporting Keith with one arm, he turns away, leaving the crowd to wallow in their complaints. 

Keith holds onto the Champion’s breastplate, staring at the man. For some reason, he is not afraid. He feels calm. Safe. 

The Champion doesn’t look at him, only makes his way through the bustling party without a word. Many attendants stop and stare. Keith ignores them. The band continues on playing, the dancers go on dancing, and the gluttonous stuff their faces. 

After a while the Champion breaks free of the crowd, and heads toward a spot in the dirt wall framed by a stone arch. He doesn’t stop or slow down, even as he draws closer. Keith wants to warn him, but the words don’t come. Just before they run into the wall, Keith flinches, and hides his face against the Champion’s neck.

His skin prickles with a strange energy, and then he feels a cool wind brushing his hair. 

Keith opens his eyes. 

They are outside.

Gaping, he looks up at the bright stars, then to the hill behind them. His grip on the knight’s breastplate tightens. The Champion says nothing, only continues carrying him on through the woods.

The critters seem to quiet in the face of his return. Keith hears not a cricket, nor an owl, or even a fox breaking twigs. The moon shines bright through the trees. Keith thinks he recognizes one of the thick trunks.

After a long time, the Champion breaks his silence. 

“You are awfully quiet for a human child,” he says. “What are you called?”

Keith stares at him contemplatively. He wants to ask if the man is really going to eat him, like the others said. Instead, he answers. 

“Keith,” he says, voice rough from disuse. “Keith Yorak Knight—,”

A hand slaps over Keith’s mouth. “ _Never_ ,” the knight hisses, “speak your full name around the Folk again! Do you understand me, foolish one?”

Keith blinks with wide eyes, and nods. 

The Champion sighs, and withdraws his hand. “You are a lucky one indeed. You can trust that I would never use your name for nefarious purposes.” Then after a moment his brow furrows. “‘Yorak,’ … what a queer name for a human,” he muses. 

Keith doesn’t respond to that. Instead he asks, “What’s your name?”

The Champion sighs through his nose. His skin burns from the iron. “I am called Shiro,” he says.

“Shroe,” Keith says.

He shakes his head. “Shi-Ro,” he repeats. 

“Shi, ro.”

“Very good.”

“Are you going to eat me?”

The Champion, Shiro, surprises Keith with a laugh. It jostles Keith’s place on his arm. “No, little one. I am not going to eat you.”

Keith smiles. 

Shiro carries Keith through the forest for a long time, past creeks and logs and badger holes. Keith doesn’t know how Shiro knows where to go, but he doesn’t ask. 

Eventually they break through a clearing, and Keith immediately knows where they are. His pa’s shack is nearby. He looks at Shiro with bright eyes.

“One question, Keith,” says Shiro, his silver eyes serious. “Do you like oatmeal?”

Keith tilts his head at the weird question, but nods. 

“Then be sure to carry some in your pocket from now on.”

He doesn’t explain anymore, just shifts Keith in his arm and sets him back down to stand on his own. Keith arches his neck to gaze up at the man who saved his life. 

“I love you,” Keith says. 

Shiro surprises him again by barking out a laugh, this one louder than before. He crouches down on one knee and ruffles Keith’s hair. 

“Gratitude,” he says. “The love of a human is a precious thing. Now go,” he nods to the side, “someone is waiting for you.”

Keith turns to where Shiro gestured, and sees his shack. Standing alone and run down in the middle of the woods, it looks like utter paradise to Keith. With a gasp, Keith darts off. He bursts through the gate of the fence, arms held out wide. “Pa!” he shouts.

His father comes out of the front door, already crying, as he scoops up his son desperately in his arms. He nuzzles into Keith’s neck, getting his shirt wet with tears. Keith hugs back, wailing. 

After a tearful reunion, when his father finally picks him up to go inside, Keith glances out into the woods. 

No one is there. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter includes depictions of traumatic injury and blood.

_How many years  
_ _I know I'll bear  
_ _I found something in the woods somewhere  
_ In the Woods Somewhere, Hozier 

*

With a resounding _thud,_ Keith places the last box of his belongings in his new home. 

Granted, he didn’t need very many boxes in the first place. 

Keith stands up, stretches his back, and looks about the room. It’s empty, just like the other rooms, and every sound echoes off the walls. The kitchen stands barren, waiting to be stocked with fruits and herbs. The living room lacks a place to sit. He has only a mattress in the single bedroom, not even a box spring. 

It’s perfect. 

A quaint little cottage in the woods is the type of home Keith has dreamed of having since he was a little boy. And now he has it. From the multi-colored shingles to the stone chimney, the vine covered brick siding to the dormer windows in the attic, from the small white porch to the stone pathway meandering through the desolate garden, it is all his. 

Keith can’t stop himself; he is alone without any fear of stares, and has plenty of space to move about. 

He begins to dance. 

His feet twirl in circles, and he raises his arms above his head, whipping his hair about. In Keith’s mind plays a familiar tune, with drums and flutes and harps. It sounds like the music he once heard, long ago, when he was a child. 

How many hours did he daydream about that fantastical story? Getting lost in the woods, happening upon a party inside a hill, and getting rescued by a horned knight in shining armor. Keith doesn’t know where such an imagination came from. But he revisits it often, whenever he needs a place to escape in his own head. 

He withdrew into that fantasy a lot when his father died. At the funeral, he wanted the knight to come back and rescue his pa from the mortality that took him. When Keith was taken into the system, he wanted the knight to spirit him away from small rooms and social workers. Even now, at eighteen, he wishes the mysterious man was real, so he could escape becoming an adult with responsibilities and bills. 

But no one comes to save him. 

Keith grew up in the foster system of a nearby city, a forest of skyscrapers instead of trees and concrete instead of soil, cars instead of animals, subways instead of worms. The smog was poison in his lungs. His allergy to iron and steel made his skin burn an angry red at almost everything he touched. The air tasted like metal.

As if that weren’t bad enough, he always had the feeling that everyone thought he was too strange. 

_He barely ever speaks,_ they would whisper to one another when they thought he wasn’t paying attention. 

_His teacher said he took off his shoes again at recess._

_He dances in his room when he thinks we’re not looking._

_He got into another fight at school._

_I just can’t connect with him._

A boy once said, “You have girls’ eyes,” and Keith punched him in the face.

“I meant that they were beautiful!” the boy cried as he ran away. 

Someone challenged Keith to a videogame and when he won, the classmate shoved Keith to the ground. Keith tore back, lashing out like a wild animal, and the boy ended up in the hospital. 

Keith was prone to what his foster parents would call tantrums, but they felt so much _more_ than that. They didn’t understand that the very air burned his skin, the lights were too bright, his clothes suffocated him. He didn’t know what else to do but cry and scream. His foster mother tried holding him, but it never helped. He could tell she didn’t like it whenever he had one of his ‘tantrums.’

They did at least have some good things to say about Keith, in the end. He loved the arts. Every Christmas he begged to go see the ballet and listen to orchestra concerts. Museums fascinated him. He also never lied to them. He grew up honest, almost to a fault. Though they did not like it very much whenever they asked how they looked in some dress or another and Keith would say, “awful.” Keith couldn’t comprehend why they got angry then, when they wanted the truth. 

It’s not that his foster parents over the years were bad people. They just didn’t understand him. Nor he they. 

And so ever since he was small, Keith was determined to come back to the country one day.

Now, he finally has. 

The moment he turned eighteen, Keith looked up every property back where he was born. Unfortunately the shack he and his pa lived in was long gone, but when he saw pictures of the cottage, he knew in his heart it was his new home. 

Keith spins in place, taking a deep breath into his lungs. The clear country air already feels so much better than years of city smoke. 

His dancing slowly comes to a stop, heart beating a heady rhythm. Dancing in the privacy of his own home is nice, but now he really needs to unpack and make it more homely. 

Before starting on anything else though, Keith has one thing to do. He opens a box in the kitchen and grabs a bowl, and then fills it with milk. He goes out to the porch and sets it on the white wooden steps. 

He’s not sure why, but ever since he returned to his pa from the woods, his father always put out a bowl of milk at their front door every day, without fail. Keith thought it was to feed the cats around the area. He couldn’t carry on that tradition when he was in the system; he tried, but his foster parents hated attracting all the strays to their window, so he had to stop. But with a place of his own, he can now finally continue the little ritual.

“For you, pa,” Keith murmurs to himself. 

When he returns inside, his phone has new notifications on it. He picks it up to see a group chat still in an ongoing process. 

> James: How about dinner at the Mexican place on Saturday?  
> Nadia: BORING!! There’s a rave happening in the old warehouse on Saturday and I’m dragging you all there. 

Keith scrolls past the ensuing argument. 

> Ryan: Why can’t we just do both  
> Nadia: POR QUÉ NO LOS DOS, MY FRIEND  
> Ina: That’s a reasonable compromise.   
> James: What do you think, Keith?

Keith pauses. 

James, Ryan, Nadia, and Ina are a group of friends who have known each other since high school, maybe even earlier. They’re all from the area, choosing to attend the local college together, which is how Keith met them. While they’ve already invited Keith to their group chat, he still hesitates to call himself a part of their circle. Nadia in particular seems to want to get Keith out of the house and show him all the town has to offer. 

After a moment of deliberation, Keith types. It’s not like he has anything else going on Saturday. 

> Keith: Sure. 

He closes his phone and looks out the window. He smiles when he sees an orange tabby cat on his porch, lapping away at the milk bowl.

*

The countryside is well within the throes of autumn. The trees are filled with bright multi-colored leaves and the air turns brisk. Squirrels bury acorns and birds fly south. The apples are ripe and children pick blackberries from bushes. Downtown, people wrap themselves tight in sweaters and scarves, warming their hands with a cup of cider. 

It’s the perfect day for a hike. 

Keith has done his research on the area before moving here; the small sleepy town is on national forest land, and there are a myriad of hiking trails to choose from several miles away. He decides on an intermediate hike, with plenty of winding paths and uphill climbs, and a view of a large hidden lake at the very end.

He only has one morning class on Monday, of which he barely pays attention to. He never really did have to focus much to get good grades. It’s a gen-ed class anyway. He’ll save putting his nose to the grindstone for whenever he finally picks out a major. 

When the class ends and Keith is back home, he packs all of the essentials for a long hike. Water, granola bars and beef jerky, a map, compass, and first aid kit all go into his backpack. He keeps his mom’s knife out in its sheath, clipping it to the belt loop at his side for easy access. He pulls on a warm pair of boots and water resistant jacket. 

With everything set, Keith puts out another bowl of milk on the porch and heads out to his motorcycle. He pets a hand down her handlebars, his skin unaffected by any of the metal on her. She’s made of titanium instead of steel, allowing him to enjoy the thrill of the ride without getting burned. 

He hops on with a grin, and revs her up. 

The beginning of the trail is about half an hour away, and Keith enjoys every mile. He leans over with every swerve, knee almost touching the asphalt. The road has been carved into a mountain long ago, leaving sheer cliffs towering above. Trees hover, with their gnarled branches dangling down like witches fingers, grabbing for him as he speeds by. Streams trickle down like ribbons on the sides of the road. When Keith passes by a sign marking the hiking trail, he slows and turns down a gravel road leading to an area to park. His day only gets better when he realizes no one else is there. Swinging his leg off the bike, he finds the beginning of the path and sets on. 

*

He’s a few miles in when Keith finds an excellent walking stick to use. Vines constrict around the length of it, and when Keith cuts them off it reveals a twisting pattern in the wood. It looks like the kind of walking stick an old wizard would use. He takes it reverently, and makes good use of it when the path starts winding uphill. 

Dry leaves crunch under his feet. Elm and oak trees tower above, and squirrels clamor up and down the trunks with acorns in their mouths. Finches sing amongst the branches; Keith finds an old abandoned nest and peers inside. It contains broken eggshells and a dead chick. He leaves it be. 

Keith climbs over fallen logs and boulders that have been carved to make way for the path. He crosses a stream, getting his boots wet. There are no tadpoles at this time of the year. Once he slips over a wet rock covered in moss, but catches himself with his walking stick. 

Instead of growing tired the longer he hikes, Keith finds his energy increasing. The cool air smells of dirt and foliage, purifying his lungs from the grime of the city. Wind caresses his skin, bringing a healthy glow to his cheeks. The sun beams down through the canopy. Mushrooms grow out of bones and rotten logs. He passes by a large spider web with a moth struggling against the binding silk; its predator waiting patiently nearby.

Keith is surrounded by dead and dying things, and yet he can’t remember the last time he felt so alive. 

He raises his arms and spins around once. A yellow leaf falls into his hair. 

A roar unlike anything he’s ever heard pierces the sky. 

Keith freezes in place, thinking he may have stumbled upon a bear or wolf. After several long seconds he takes a cautious step forward, shuffling the leaves. The air is still around him. 

Another cry, this one of intense pain. Birds flee from the branches at the shrill sound. 

Then the very ground shakes, leaving Keith to grab a tree for balance. It stops after a brief moment. 

It feels like something crashed. 

Heart pounding, Keith deliberates on finding the source, or turning away.

He doesn’t have to think too long. Adjusting his backpack, Keith drops the walking stick and begins to run, heading off of the main path. He pushes through bushes and branches in his face, waving away cobwebs. A groundhog hides in its hole as Keith passes. He stomps on mushrooms and debris, plastic water bottles and chip bags from unruly teenagers. His blood rushes. His legs strain. He now feels the exertion that earlier eluded him. Something catches at his jacket and he forcefully tugs it off, not even bothering to look at what it was. Briars stick to his jeans. His breath comes in short and noisy. The ground is uneven and he stumbles once or twice, but continues on. 

Keith finally slows to a stop when he comes across an oak tree with its bark smeared in blood. 

Throat dry, he looks to the ground. The blood splatters, and then forms a line on the forest floor. Something dragged whatever bled. 

Keith follows the bloodied path.

It twists and turns between the forestry, but comes to a stop not far from the source. 

At the base of a thick tree sits a man. His long black hair shields his face. More startling is the stub of an arm at his side, ripped off above the elbow and bleeding profusely. 

Keith practically trips over himself to get to him. He slides on bloodied leaves before coming to a crouch at the man’s side. “Hey,” he gasps, checking for consciousness. “Help is here, I have a first aid kit, I can—,” 

He stops, because as he takes the man’s chin in hand and turns his head toward him, Keith’s world stops. 

For while his hair may have grown past his shoulders and gained a white streak, Keith still knows that face. He knows those horns that curl over his head, knows that iron band scarring his skin. 

“… _Shiro?_ ” he whispers in shock. 

The man doesn't respond, only groans. He’s out cold. 

Keith doesn’t have time to freeze and stare in wonder. Shaking his head, he practically rips his backpack off his shoulders and digs in for the first aid kit. With quivering hands, he draws out alcohol pads and a tourniquet. While he knows basic first aid for cuts and stings, Keith had never looked up what to do for cases such as dismemberment. He just hopes he can help Shiro survive long enough for 911 to arrive. 

First he gets a look at the point of separation. Shiro still wears the same dark thorny armor he wore when Keith was a child. Keith searches for a way to remove what’s left of the vambrace and spaulder, getting his hands bloody in the process. He feels leather straps, and draws out his knife to cut them free, sheathing it back when he’s done. As carefully as he can, Keith peels off the vambrace, wincing when he sees the bare stump left. Flesh dangles in shreds, the bone visible and dripping with blood. It was not a clean cut. Shiro’s arm was ripped off. 

Swallowing thickly, Keith wraps the tourniquet around a few inches above the stump as tight as he dares to stop the bleeding. His fingers slip in his nervousness, wet with Shiro’s blood. 

“You—you’re gonna be okay,” Keith says, more to comfort himself. “Shiro…”

Shiro’s brow furrows in pain, and as Keith turns to reach for the alcohol wipes, squints open his eyes. A wounded noise passes his pale lips. 

“Shiro!” Keith draws to him immediately, hand on Shiro’s uninjured shoulder. “Shiro, it’s going to be okay. I have a phone, I’ll call 911.”

Shiro looks at Keith with bleary, unfocused silver eyes. “You… you are a human,” he murmurs. “You can see me?”

Keith stares at him. Does he not recognize Keith as the child he once saved?

With a sigh, Shiro lolls his head to the side, glancing at the tourniquet Keith messily fit onto him. “Ah…” He closes his eyes. “Foolish one. You should have left me to die.” His voice is agonized as his hair falls over his face. 

Keith’s heart twists in his chest. “No!” He squeezes Shiro’s shoulder. “I would never leave you. I’ll stay right here, okay? They’ll come get you to the hospital—,”

“I will not go,” Shiro states. “Now leave me be.”

“No,” Keith pushes, feeling desperate. “No, I’m not leaving you. Not when I can help.”

“Impudent creature!” Shiro snaps. His fangs show in his mouth as he glowers at Keith. “You know not of what you’re interfering with. If he knows I live…” He drifts off, eyes slowly widening in realization as he stares at Keith. “But if he doesn’t… if he believes I am dead…” 

He sits up straight, then falls back with a groan. Keith’s hands hover above Shiro, not knowing what to do. “This is… this is my chance,” Shiro says quietly. He then gives Keith a sharp look. “Human. Do you possess any raw meat or flesh?”

Keith blinks at the whiplash of mood. Shiro looks almost… hopeful, now. “I, uh…” He reaches in his backpack. “No… just this beef jerky.” 

Shiro’s mouth thins. “It will have to do.” With a grimace, he holds his remaining hand out for Keith. “If you’re truly intent on ‘helping’ me, then give it to me.”

Despite having no idea what’s going on in the man’s head, Keith hands the beef jerky over.

Shiro takes it and raises it to his lips. He closes his eyes and begins to murmur quietly, lips brushing against the clear wrapping. 

_Great Beast of the Forest West  
_ _Hear my plea_  
 _With this offering so blessed  
I summon thee_

Shiro repeats the words several times with his low voice. Keith watches diligently from the side. 

For a long time, nothing happens. Keith wonders if he should pull out his phone and call for help, against Shiro’s wishes. 

But then, another roar cries out in the forest, making Keith jump. Whatever makes that cry then starts to move, and _fast._ Keith hears the sound of claws scraping against the bark of trees, branches snapping in its wake, leaves crunching under feet. From far away, a treetop shakes. Then another, closer. The creature hurries ever nearer, and alarmed, Keith stands on his feet and gets in front of Shiro, a pathetic source of protection. He’s not leaving him. 

From the copse, a lion bursts out. 

Keith falls back in shock. 

It’s no ordinary lion; it towers above them, as big as a horse, and sports fur and mane as white as snow. Its eyes glow yellow like wild daffodils. It saunters over to them on paws as big as Keith’s head. 

Trembling, Keith stands his ground as best he can, holding his arms out to shield Shiro. 

“You are brave, for a human,” he hears Shiro muse from behind him. “But you may relax. This is Ffion, my steed.”

The lion doesn’t wait for Keith to move out of the way. She takes one of her giant paws and gently nudges him to the side, scooting him across the forest floor, before stepping closer to Shiro. She bends her head low and sniffs his face. 

“Hello, old friend,” Shiro says, his voice and eyes soft in the way Keith remembers as a child. “It has been… some time.” He holds out the beef jerky and the lion gives it a perfunctory sniff before gobbling it up, wrapping and all. She licks her lips in satisfaction as Shiro pets a hand through her mane. 

Ffion gives his cheek an affectionate nuzzle—but then recoils in disgust. A low grow rumbles from behind her bared teeth. Before Keith can react, she swipes her claws clear across Shiro’s face, his long hair whipping in its wake. 

“NO!” cries Keith. 

The iron band falls to the ground, broken in two. 

Both Keith and Shiro stare at it in shock. Shiro lifts his hand to his face, idly feeling the raw burned skin across his nose, finally freed. Then his lips curl into a soft smile. “Gratitude,” he whispers. 

The white lion chuffs, her eyes blinking slowly. Shiro wraps an arm around her neck, burying his face into her mane and holding for a long time. Keith still doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he lets them have their touching moment. 

“I don’t suppose I could suffer you to take me back to court, now could I,” Shiro murmurs into Ffion’s fur.

She bumps her head against Shiro’s face in answer. Shiro laughs at the gesture, and it takes Keith’s breath away. How many years has he heard that sound in his dreams and fantasies? 

“I apologize for this,” Shiro says, and fists a hand in the lion’s mane and uses it to pull himself to his feet. Ffion stands firmly in obedience, allowing him to use her as balance. 

Keith finally finds his voice then. “Hey, wait…” He wonders if Shiro had forgotten he was even here. 

The knight turns to Keith.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t move! Your arm…” 

Shiro glances down at the stump on his right side, eyeing the tourniquet. “Ah, yes. You won’t have to worry. Ffion will take me to our most skilled healers.”

Healers? Like doctors?

Keith takes a step forward. “Can I come with you?”

Shiro loses the softness in his eyes he reserved for his lion, and frowns. “No,” he answers simply, and with a flourish, throws himself astride over Ffion’s back. He holds on with one hand, and the lion turns to walk away.

“But how will I know you’re okay?” Keith pleads desperately. “How will I know you make it? What if I want to see you again?”

Ffion pauses, and looks up at Shiro over her shoulder. Shiro sighs through his nose. He turns to Keith, and reaches into the inside of his breastplate. 

“I suppose you did save my life…” 

He draws out something large and dark, and tosses it to Keith, who catches it. It looks like a triangular rock, smooth to the touch. It is black as obsidian and just as sharp. Slightly bigger than his palm, Keith holds it with both hands reverently. 

A scale. 

“You performed a great deed for me, and therefore I shall do the same,” explains Shiro from atop his lion steed. “When you wish to call upon me, place that scale into an open flame and say my face name: Shiro of the Un—,” he cuts himself off, then corrects: “Shiro of the _Seelie_ Court. Summon me, and I shall serve any one single duty that you ask of me.”

“I…” Keith stammers, then nods quickly. “Okay. That’s… I can do that.” 

Shiro tilts his head, hair falling free down his face. “Until we meet again, then, brave human,” he says, and the lion takes off with a sprint, carrying him deep into the woods. Keith watches their backs until they disappear behind from one tree to the next. 

He is left alone in the forest. 

Keith stares at the point he lost sight of them for a long time, but nothing happens. 

Not for the first time, Keith wonders if he is simply caught too deep in a fantasy of his. If this is all made up. If he will wake back up in the middle of his hike, the walking stick still in his grip and idly holding a granola bar as he stares out at the beautiful hidden lake. 

The obsidian scale in his hands tells him otherwise. 

As well as the iron band, rent in two, half buried in the leaves. 

As well as all of Shiro’s blood, still splattered and stained along the trees and ground. It is far too much blood for a person to lose and still live. It’s beginning to dry on Keith’s hands, sticky and red. His stomach rolls in his gut at the sight.

He no longer feels like finishing his hike. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter includes minor Keith/Romelle, non consensual touching, and nudity.

_Gold and silver shine all 'round  
__In a thousand lights on the dancing ground  
__Oh come not here at the fall of night  
__Where the fair folk dance in the waning light  
_Fair Folk, Heather Dale

*

Keith spends the next few days in a foggy haze, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He attends classes but his notebooks go unwritten; he unpacks his boxes at the cottage but there’s no rhyme or reason to his organization; he texts in one word answers in the group chat, and only when prompted.

Well, he already did that last one before. 

Before his hike in the woods. 

Before discovering the horned knight with the iron band he thought he made up in his imagination. 

Before everything Keith thought he knew about the world changed. 

Shiro is real. 

The words seem unable to process fully in his mind.

_Shiro is real._

And if Shiro is real, then Keith must acknowledge that all of the other parts of his little adventure in the woods as a child were real, too. The revel inside a hill. The woman with legs of a goat. The monsters all gathering around him and gleefully musing on what body parts to take. 

Keith is terrified that such evil creatures exist. And yet, a deep part of him feels excitement underneath it all. He wants to know more. He wants to see Shiro again. 

Sitting at his little breakfast table at home, his cereal is tasteless on his tongue. Keith draws out the scale from his pocket and examines it, turning it over in his hand. It catches the light of the sun outside the window. 

_“Summon me, and I shall serve any one single duty that you ask of me.”_

All Keith has to do is put the scale in a fire. He’s not sure how it works, but Shiro said he would come to him. He has to believe him. 

But he has the feeling that it would be the last time he ever sees the horned knight. Shiro said he’d come back long enough to do Keith a favor, and that seems to be it. Keith doesn’t want to waste the one chance he has. He needs to think long and hard about what he wants from Shiro. 

Keith could always ask to _stay_ with Shiro… 

He shakes his head before the thought can finish, cheeks flushing red. He’s pretty sure Shiro would not like that one bit, and Keith doesn’t want to make Shiro dislike him. 

Money? No, Keith has enough to get by. Fame? Shiro is not a genie. A ride on his lion? Keith’s not sure he actually wants that. 

With a sigh, Keith tucks the scale away, feeling it solid and heavy in his pocket. 

His phone chimes with a message. 

> Nadia: ARE! WE! READY! TO GET FUCKED TONIGHT!!

Oh, right. Saturday. He agreed to go out to eat and then a rave. 

Keith props his elbow on the table and leans his head in his hand. Does he really want to go? He hasn’t felt like doing much of anything this week. 

> Nadia: Don’t even think about skimping out on me!  
> James: I’m still in.  
> Ina: Myself as well.  
> Ryan: mm  
> Nadia: Keith??

Keith doesn’t answer right away.

> James: She knows where you live, Keith.  
> Nadia: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE, KNIGHT

Keith squints at his screen.

> Keith: how  
> Nadia: Do not question my methods just COME ON!!

Keith sighs. It’s not like he has anything else to do, and… he really needs to distract himself from all that’s happened. So far, nothing else has done the trick. Maybe some dancing will help. 

> Keith: ok

He takes out the scale and sets it on his nightstand before he leaves. 

*

Keith meets with everyone at a local Mexican joint first. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall on the south side of downtown, and, Keith discovers, has excellent enchiladas. He stuffs his face while the others chat about classes and whatever it is that people that have been friends for so long talk about. As always, he feels an outsider.

“So Keith,” Nadia says, poking at her huevos rancheros, “that cottage you got? Way adorable. It looks like something out of a fairy tale!”

“Yeah, but,” James joins in, steepling his fingers. “No offense Keith, but… how on earth did you afford it? I don’t know of a single freshman college student who can live on their own, in their own _building_ no less. With _property._ The rest of us barely make ends meet in the dorms, which we share. So what’s your secret?”

Keith swallows his mouthful, and shrugs, looking down at his plate. “I don’t know,” he says. “I just… looked at the price, and then at my bank account and… I had enough.” He avoids everyone’s eyes. “Maybe my dad was really frugal before he died. We did live in a shack, after all.”

The table falls silent. James, Ryan, and Nadia all share glances. 

“It appears we’ve made this conversation very awkward,” says Ina. “We didn’t mean to touch on the fact that you’re an orphan coming from poverty.”

James holds his face in his hands. Ryan sinks into his seat. Nadia just nods. 

Ina tends to point out things that people think should stay quiet. She doesn’t always understand what’s appropriate according to the reactions of others. Keith feels a certain kinship with her in that regard, and that is why he doesn’t hold it against her. “S’okay,” he says, taking another bite of food. 

*

After dinner they walk through downtown, with Nadia leading the way to the rave. Keith stops several times whenever they pass by street performers, mostly musicians. He draws out a few bills from his wallet for every single one; even when he thinks he surely must have run out, he always finds just enough to leave. A shirtless guy playing acoustic guitar sends him a wink, and he flushes. 

Eventually they leave downtown and head on through the outskirts of town, which is a little more industrial. Not very many buildings are actually in use—mostly empty factories with broken glass windows and distribution centers with long abandoned signs, their logos faded and worn. 

Nadia opens a bag of neon sticks and bracelets and splits them between the group. Keith thinks it looks silly, but he places a red one on his wrist anyways. It makes Nadia happy at least. She’s practically bouncing among them, gushing about how much fun they’re going to have. From the sound of it, they’ve all done this sort of thing before. 

It’s easy to tell which building holds the rave when they get closer. The bass vibrates the ground, and lights flash a myriad of colors from the windows of a distant warehouse. Its walls are a metal grey with rust at the corners, and the tin roofing doesn’t look nearly stable enough for Keith’s comfort. But it must be enough, because the hollowed-out building is filled to the brim with hundreds of people, all jumping and dancing wildly. 

They don’t need ID to get in. There’s no line; anyone who can’t fit inside just dances around the perimeter. Keith’s group makes it in somehow.

A wave of metal and sweat rushes at Keith’s senses upon entering. The heat from gyrating bodies is palpable in the air. A hand trails along Keith’s chest. Someone bumps into his back and nearly trips him. There’s hardly any room to move. It’s suffocating. 

He looks to his friends. Ryan sways from side to side, bobbing his head with a stoic look on his face. James is a little more energetic, with a bounce in his steps. Nadia just goes wild, backing up against whoever is closest, pumping her arms in the air. Even Ina joins in on the dancing, giving little hops with her hands flailing. 

“I never thought you were the dancing type,” Keith shouts over the din of music. 

“Oh, I’m not,” says Ina. “But it’s a good excuse to do this,” she gives her hands a flap, “without people noticing or pointing it out. It makes them feel awkward, I think. For some reason.”

Keith nods. 

“Will you not dance?”

“I…” 

Truth be told, he’s not seeing anything that looks like the kind of dancing he enjoys. Most people are just jumping up and down or grinding their undulating bodies on each other in an imitation of sex. There’s hardly any room to spin around in place, twirl his hands in the air, toss his hair about, sing so loud he’s screaming. It’s far too different from these dances. People would look at him too much. The music isn’t how he likes either, the subwoofers rattling his body and the electronic melodies repetitive. 

Swallowing his disappointment, Keith makes his way to one of the corners, running his thumb over his index knuckle back and forth soothingly as he bumps into more people who pay him no mind. He leans against the wall and watches his friends as they have fun. He tells himself that he’s not jealous. He would much rather be far away from here, with an open sky and a simple drum to keep rhythm, and rich grass under his bare feet. With a mysterious horned knight at his side. 

Keith contemplates just leaving the rave and sending an apology text later, when he sees her.

Through the thrum of bodies, a girl dances. She’s given a wide enough berth to spin as fast as she can, waving her arms wild but graceful. Her blonde hair whips about, done up in twintails and a braid at her crown. She wears a purple crop-top, showing off a smooth abdomen. She dances like she’s in her own little world of childlike innocence, completely unaware of the debauchery around her. 

It’s exactly the way Keith wants to dance.

His feet move before he even thinks about it. His eyes are helplessly drawn to her, filled with a yearning he can’t put to words. He sidles past ravers, meandering through the waves of hands without letting his goal leave his sight. Keith hears her laughing, like a joyous bell. 

He makes it into the circle, finally able to breathe. 

The girl doesn’t stop dancing, swaying her hips side to side. 

“Hello,” she says with an accent he can’t place.

“Hi,” says Keith. 

“You’re cute.” She spins once, hands reaching for the ceiling. “Dance with me?”

Keith nods, tongue thick in his throat.

She takes his hand in hers, and it’s like… all of his earlier reservations melt away. He is free to do whatever he wants, however he wants! The ravers don’t look at her weirdly, why should they look at him? 

Keith feels a laugh bubble out of his throat as she whirls. He mimics her as easy as breathing. No one bumps into him, not even when he stretches his arms as wide as he can. He almost wants to take his shoes off. The rest of the world falls apart; it is only him and this girl. He never wants to stop dancing. He wants to dance with her forever. 

The girl throws her arms around his neck with a sweet sigh, and presses their bodies close together. “I like you,” she says. 

“I’m Keith,” he hears himself say.

“Romelle,” she answers. 

Even her name is beautiful. Keith can’t look away from her. He holds her close to him.

“I like your dancing. Not anything like the rest of these people.” She looks at him with purple eyes. “I know a place where we can dance until the sun rises and sets, with plentiful food and so much wine you could swim in it. Will you come with me?”

It’s not even a question. “Yes,” Keith says. He will go anywhere she asks. 

With a grin, she takes both his hands in hers and walks back. Keith follows her helplessly. The ravers all part from her like the sea, making them a path to the outside world. 

They’re almost at the heavy double doors when Keith is jumped, quite literally, by a group of people. Alarmed, he tries to shake them off, before realizing they’re his friends. They all run their hands over him, eyes half-lidded. 

“Guys? What—,”

“Your dancing is so pretty, Keith,” James says in an awed voice. He looks Keith in the eye. “You’re so pretty, Keith.”

Ryan’s big hand cups Keith’s neck like a puppy. “You should stay and dance with me.” He smiles with a quirk of his lips. 

“I want him to dance with _me_ ,” Nadia says with a pout. Her hands are on Keith’s chest. “I saw him first.”

Ina leans her head on Keith’s shoulder, gazing up at him with doe eyes. “Pick me, Keith. I will do anything.”

“I want to kiss you,” James confesses. 

“I want to marry you,” sighs Nadia. 

Ryan leans in close to Keith’s ear. In a deep gruff voice, he grunts, “I want to f—,”

“GUYS,” Keith yelps, finally finding his voice. “I don’t—what are you—?” He tries jerking away, but they crowd closer, humming and touching and whispering sweet nothings. Keith shoots Romelle a helpless look. 

Romelle appears amused by the situation, but finally takes pity on him enough to grab his hand and yank him out of the circle. They reach for him with grabbing hands like something out of a zombie movie. 

“Come on!” she calls, and the two of them run out of the building together, hand in hand. 

Keith can still hear his friends crying out for him. He doesn’t look back. 

When they’re a few blocks away, they finally slow down. Keith's breath comes in heavy pants. 

“Sorry about that,” Romelle says, squeezing Keith’s hand. She leads him on to their destination. “I guess I lost a bit of control there without realizing… but it’s strange. Usually it just ends up with people groping at _me,_ not the person I've got.” She flashes him a bright smile. “You must be a pretty special human!”

Her phrasing doesn’t concern Keith nearly as much as it probably should. The fact that his friends acted so strangely doesn’t even register on his radar. Now that they’re alone again, he’s back to wanting nothing more than to spend time with her. He smiles back dopily. “S’alright.”

Romelle giggles, and it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. 

She takes him the opposite direction of where he came from, past more abandoned buildings and under old bridges covered in ivy. The farther they go, the scarcer the industrialization. Keith prefers it that way. They walk on the side of the road, past the end of the sidewalk. Various trash and litter scatters with the cold autumn wind. 

Keith feels Romelle shivering through their joined hands. Without pause, he shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her. Romelle takes it with a sparkle in her eye. 

“Oh, you are _sweet_ ,” she coos, wrapping his jacket tight around her body. “I think I will keep you.”

Keith thinks that’s just fine. “Is it enough?”

“It’s perfect,” she says. With a tilt of her head, she adds, “But you would set yourself on fire to keep me warm, wouldn’t you?”

Keith doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Romelle laughs, and begins to run. Keith follows after her. 

She leads him away from the road, down a slight ditch, and into the trees. Her twintails flutter behind her, like hands beckoning Keith closer. He desperately keeps up with her, the thought of losing her the most terrifying thought in the world. Her petite feet frolic over the ground, practically weightless, not even crunching the leaves. Keith on the other hand stumbles through the forest, breaking branches and causing all sorts of noise. Her giggles echo between the evergreens, softer than a dandelion puff. 

Eventually he breaks through and finds himself in a glade. Romelle stands waiting for him, hands behind her back, smiling. Keith straightens, and takes in his surroundings. 

There’s a party in the glade. There are hanging lights filled with fireflies in the branches of trees, wooden tables piled high with food, dreamy music lilting in the air, and _people_. People of all shapes and sizes, eating, talking amongst themselves, and dancing. Dancing in circles, dancing in rows, dancing together, dancing alone. 

“What do you think?” Romelle asks, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

“It’s wonderful,” Keith breathes. 

She beams, and takes his hands in hers. “Don’t you want to stay here forever?”

“Yes.”

Romelle leads him down to one of the low hanging tables. The legs must be protesting with how much food is piled on it. Roasted birds’ wings; baked apples glazed in honey; acorns marinated in warm milk; candied lavender petals arranged on silver plates; steaming meat dumplings; raw quails’ eggs by the half-eggshell; rose water pudding; and more types of fresh raw fruits than Keith can count. 

“Go ahead,” Romelle beckons. “Pick anything you want.”

Dazed by the sweet headiness of the very air, Keith reaches for a halved pomegranate. He digs his fingers into the blood red innards and plucks out several arils, gleaming like ruby jewels. He pops them in his mouth. They burst on his tongue, tart and juicy. It tastes like coming home. He then takes a silver goblet of spiced wine and washes it down, settling nice and warm in his stomach. He feels so safe and secure in this moment, like a blanket wrapping around his shoulders and rocking him in a loving embrace. 

Romelle practically buzzes with excitement. “Dance with me, dance with me!” She pulls on his hand. Keith laughs and goes willingly. 

She takes him to one of the very many circles of dancers. A boy with beetle’s wings links arms with a short fat man wearing the tallest cap Keith’s ever seen. A woman with the lower body of a horse plays on a lute nearby, tapping one hoof on the ground. A creature with a head of a deer’s skull picks at an hors d’oeuvre. 

Keith dances with Romelle like he’s never danced before. His heart pounds in his chest, spinning wildly and madly, consumed with elation. All he feels is bliss. He dances until his feet ache, and then he dances some more. His arms strain, he gasps for air, his legs shake. He goes on dancing. He can’t stop.

After what feels like hours of nonstop dancing Romelle drapes herself across his front. She looks up at him conspiratorially. “We should take off our clothes,” she says. 

They wouldn’t be the only ones naked in the glade. Keith nods, and yanks off his shirt. Romelle’s purple eyes darken at the sight, and she follows his lead, dropping his jacket off her shoulders and letting the rest of her clothing fall to the ground. Blue markings decorate her lithe curves. Keith stumbles out of his pants, taking his briefs along with them, and kicks off his socks and shoes. His toes wiggle in the grass, digging into the dirt. 

Romelle takes his face in her hands and slots her lips to his. Her breasts press against his chest. Keith wraps his arms around her soft waist and kisses back. She devours him, mouth open, and he lets her consume. She runs sharp nails through his mop of hair, scratching the back of his neck and making Keith shiver. Romelle tastes like juniper berries and cinnamon. 

Gently, she pulls away, looking up at him with fondness. He smiles back.

Then her eyes move over his shoulder, and something changes. With a furrow of her brow, she frowns, lips pink and kiss-swollen. “What’s _his_ problem?” she murmurs. 

Curious, Keith turns. 

There, amongst the crowd by the sidelines, stands Shiro.

He stares right at Romelle and Keith, his face one of utter shock. 

In the days since Keith last saw him, there have been many changes to Shiro’s appearance. His long hair is now pulled back into a high ponytail at the crown of his head, the lower half clean shaven in an undercut. He wears armor vastly different from before, with plates of white and light blue accents, and a cape flowing down his back. He has a long sword sheathed at his side, its pommel gold. 

The most striking difference, though, is that he has his right arm again. 

Or rather, it has been replaced with a prosthetic. It is made of a similar material as his armor, if not a bit more polished and new. 

As Keith looks at it, it clenches into a tight fist. Keith glances back up to Shiro’s face to see it flattened into a stone cold stare, his silver eyes piercing right through him. 

Then, Shiro stalks forward, heading toward them. Anyone standing in his way soon parts for him, some tripping over their feet in their haste to get away. 

Keith feels Romelle stiffening, but she stands her ground. 

Shiro pushes into the circle of dancers, and soon enough stands before Keith and Romelle. He meets Keith’s eyes with an expression Keith can’t place, before shifting them towards Romelle. “Nymph,” he addresses her in a flat voice. 

“Sir Shirogane,” she bites back. 

“I’m afraid I must demand you let this human go.”

Romelle hisses defensively, her teeth sharpening into points. “And _why_ , may I ask, must I? I found him on my own. He agreed to come with me. He told me he will be mine.”

“You know a human’s promise means nothing when they’re drunk on your enchantment,” Shiro states flatly. 

“So?” Romelle rolls her eyes and puts her hands on her hips, uncaring of anyone seeing her bare body. “You know what I am. It is in my nature. I can’t just _stop_ , not even if _you_ order me to.”

“I am not ordering you to cease spiriting away humans forever,” Shiro says. “Just this one.”

That gives Romelle pause. “Just this one?” She gives Keith a contemplating look, then back at Shiro. “Oh, I see how it is.” With a scoff, she turns on her heel, blonde hair whipping in her wake. “Next time you claim a human, brand your face name into their skin so the rest of us will know not to bother.”

Shiro _growls_ , bearing his fangs like a wolf. “You _dare—_!”

But Romelle leaps away before he can say any further, her body light as a feather. She leaves a giggle echoing in their ears. 

Shiro sighs, lowering his hackles. He suddenly looks very tired. Casting a glance towards Keith, he starts, “Well then—,”

Keith throws himself onto Shiro, wrapping his arms about his shoulders with a joyous laugh. “Shroe!” he slurs. “You’re here! I missed you!”

Shiro grunts with the movement, but he’s built like a brick wall and stands firm. He doesn’t hug Keith back. “Oh, what have you gotten yourself into this time, foolish one,” he murmurs. 

Romelle may be gone, but Keith still feels giddy and silly. He rubs his cheek on Shiro’s breastplate. “Shroeeee, this place is the best! I love dancing. Why won’t you dance? You would have so much fun. I want you to—,”

“Don’t,” Shiro interrupts, covering Keith’s mouth with his hand, “waste your favor on something so inutile.”

Keith pouts from behind Shiro’s hand. He has a passing thought to lick it, but forgets when a large, leathery black wing suddenly appears from behind Shiro’s back and wraps forward to curl around Keith’s body, shielding him from the eyes of onlookers. 

“Humans have a sensitivity over being bare in public, do they not?” Shiro says. 

“I don’t care,” Keith says. 

Shiro frowns. 

Putting a hand on Keith’s lower back, he starts to lead him away from the circle of dancers. “Come.” He keeps his wing around Keith’s form protectively. 

Keith wants to protest, but he also wants to go wherever Shiro is, so he complies. He stumbles drunkenly, head swimming, but Shiro’s hand keeps him steady on his feet. They pass by curious revelers, some jeering, but Shiro ignores them. Eventually they leave the perimeter of the glade, and Keith finds himself back in the forest. 

Without the bright energy of the party, Keith feels his emotions dropping. His shoulders sag, and he leans against Shiro’s armor, eyes cast to the ground. “You don’t even remember me,” he whines. 

“Of course I remember you,” Shiro says flatly. “It is the only reason you still live and aren’t dancing yourself into an early grave.”

Keith shakes his head. “Not what I meant.”

Shiro furrows his brow. 

Keith glances up with hazed eyes. Without thinking, he reaches up for Shiro’s face. The knight doesn’t move as Keith gently traces along the scar across the bridge of his nose. “Does it hurt?” he whispers.

Shiro stares at him for a long time. He doesn’t answer. 

Instead, he withdraws his wing from Keith, leaving him naked and cold in the open. Keith shivers, but then Shiro places both hands on Keith’s shoulders and slides them down his arms. As he does so, clothing appears on Keith’s skin. Fibers materialize and knit together, leaving Keith dressed in a brown tunic very similar to the ones the other creatures wore at the revel. 

“That glamour will dissipate as soon as you are safe in your home,” Shiro explains. 

Keith looks at himself, pleased. “Can we go back, then?” he asks hopefully.

Shiro thins his lips into a line. “No.”

Keith groans like a toddler being refused a cookie. “Why _not_?”

“Because you are not in your right mind.” Shiro turns away. “Come. That nymph’s bewitchment is far stronger than I gave her credit for. Simply removing you from the premises was clearly not enough to break it.” He walks toward a group of bushes and starts to inspect them, sifting through their leaves. 

Keith crosses his arms. “You’re not as fun as you were before.” His gaze drops, a sigh passing his lips. “You laughed back then.”

Shiro stops. 

Keith watches him slowly stand straight, turning to look at Keith—really, actually _look_ at him. He steps away from the bushes and closer to Keith, several emotions flashing across his face. Confusion. Questioning. Stunned.

Recognition.

“You are…” he whispers lowly. “You’re that child…?”

Keith hunches into his shoulders. “Yeah. So I guess you didn’t need to give me that favor in the first place, since you already saved my life before.”

Shiro is silent. The two of them stand quiet before each other for a long time, before Shiro sighs with a resolute breath. Then he turns away. 

Keith thinks Shiro is leaving him, but the knight just returns to the bushes and forcefully grabs a fistful of leaves. He yanks out an entire branch and picks off the small red berries, ignoring the sharp points of the leaves poking into his fingers. 

He stalks back to Keith and grabs Keith’s chin in one hand. 

“Open,” he commands. 

Keith obeys. 

With two fingers, Shiro stuffs the red berries into Keith’s mouth. 

At first Keith jolts, shocked, but then stills and lets Shiro do whatever it is he wants. Eyes half lidded, he puckers his lips around Shiro’s fingers and licks. 

“ _Stars._ ” The word sounds like it is punched out of Shiro’s lungs. He withdraws his hand quickly to his side; Keith watches it flex once. “Just—chew it, you—,” Shiro looks away, utterly flustered. 

Pleased with himself, Keith chews. The juices spread across his tongue.

Then the taste registers. 

Gagging, Keith spits out the bitter and disgusting berries, dry heaving to the ground. “What the hell?” He wipes his mouth with his arm, face scrunched up in a grimace. “What did you _give_ me?”

“Berries of holly,” Shiro explains calmly. “If we were near an alchemists’ shop I could have given you something more… palatable. As it is, I had to use what was available.”

“Aren’t holly berries _poisonous?_ ” Keith shoots Shiro a glare. 

“Only slightly, and only if consumed in large amounts. Seeing as how you spat it all out, I would assume you are safe,” Shiro says, deadpan. “Now,” he studies Keith, “are you feeling more about your wits?”

Keith is too mad to notice the clearness of his own mind at first, but when he stops and thinks about it… 

… Oh.

Ohhhhh.

Oh no. 

Keith pales, white as a sheet.

Then all the blood in his body comes rushing back to his face, exploding his cheeks in an angry red color. He stumbles and falls back against a pine tree, eyes far off and unseeing as he goes through his internal crisis. 

Shiro waits patiently.

“You can go ahead and let me die now,” Keith finally says weakly. 

For the first time, Shiro’s eyes soften. “It is alright,” he says gently, drawing closer. “No human could have broken through such an enchantment on their own. It is not your fault.”

Keith shakes his head, letting his hair curtain his face. He feels so ridiculous. The embarrassment threatens to crush him from all sides. For crying out loud, he _licked_ Shiro’s fingers! He holds his face in his hands. 

“You must think I’m so stupid,” he mumbles against his palms. “Just a stupid, stupid kid.”

He feels Shiro’s presence next to him, quiet. Then Shiro places a hand on Keith’s shoulder. It’s enough for Keith to peek through his fingers back up at him.

“Foolish, yes. But stupid… no. You are brave and curious, sometimes a fatal combination.” He gazes at Keith with those silver eyes that make him so weak. “But a combination that saved my life. You, Keith, gave me something so indescribably precious… the chance to redeem myself. And so I will never look upon you as stupid. You are simply… human.”

“Y-you,” Keith swallows, “you remember my name?”

Shiro’s face cringes. “If you are asking I remember it all, unfortunately, the answer is yes.”

Keith doesn’t understand why Shiro says it like it’s such a bad thing. “That’s okay,” he says.

Shiro shakes his head, closing his eyes. “And that is precisely why you are foolish.” His hand slips free from Keith’s shoulder, and he begins to walk away. “Follow me. I will escort you back to your home.”

Keith misses the weight of Shiro’s hand. He trails after the knight, glamoured boots stepping over weeds and roots. “I can go by myself,” he says petulantly. He doesn’t like the thought of Shiro taking pity on him. 

“No,” Shiro answers instantly. “The night is young, and it is the season of Samhain. The fae are more active than usual. You should thank whatever gods you worship that you didn’t eat any of the food at the revel.”

Keith doesn’t mention that he did, in fact, eat some of their food. He doesn’t see why it matters. 

And well, it’s not like Keith can say he can take care of himself. Shiro can very much attest to that. He sighs, hugging himself in humiliation as he keeps himself behind Shiro’s large form. Keith watches the way Shiro’s cape flutters in the wind. His wings have disappeared from his back.

“So I guess this counts as your favor for me, right?” Keith asks, averting his gaze. “You have saved me twice, after all.” 

Shiro stops, and turns. His horns catch the moonlight shining from between the trees. “Did you request that I save your life?”

Keith blinks. “I… no?”

Shiro watches him for a long moment, then pivots on his heel and resumes leading Keith through the forest. “Then no. This is not my deed to you.”

Keith catches up to him, keeping his space. “I don’t understand.”

“I told you that I would serve any one single duty that you ask of me. In Faerie, we take our vows seriously and literally.”

“So… phrasing is everything. Got it.”

“Yes.”

They walk on silently for a long time. Like when he was a child, it feels like the very air holds its breath. No crickets chirp, no grasshoppers sing. No woodpeckers rattle tree trunks. Even the fireflies have fled. It’s like the life of the forest itself is hiding from them. 

Or maybe it’s hiding from Shiro. 

They find an old road and trudge along the edge. No cars pass by, which is probably a good thing because they look like they just hopped out of a kid’s storybook. Keith doesn’t notice until he sees a mile marker that he recognizes the area. 

“Wait, how do you know where to take me?”

“The same way I knew how to carry you home the first time. I followed your scent.”

Keith stops abruptly, making a face. “My _what_ , now?” 

Shiro slows, and glances back at Keith. “Your scent,” he repeats casually. “Is there something wrong?”

Keith sputters at him. “Are you saying I _stink_ , or—how on earth can you smell that strongly?” He feels a little bit violated.

The knight releases a long sigh, shoulders lowering. If he were a child, Keith thinks he would have rolled his eyes. “You humans have such reservations over the strangest of things. No, I am not saying you have a bad scent. It is rather nice, actually. Having a powerful sense of smell is simply a part of what I am.”

Keith is too flustered over his smell being called _nice_ to comment on it. Instead he asks, “So… what _are_ you, then? You called those creatures fae, but they all look different from one another.”

At the question, Shiro draws himself up tall, back straight, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Keith doesn’t think he realized just how much _bigger_ Shiro is than him until just that moment. He is easily twice as wide, and over a head taller. Keith looks up, suddenly feeling very small. 

“I am a sárkány,” Shiro says in a low voice, fangs showing at the sides of his mouth. “A dragon fae.”

*

After what feels like hours later, Keith finally arrives home. His cottage stands in the middle of the woods, safe and familiar. When he turns around to thank Shiro, the man is gone.

Keith sighs with a frown. “You could at least let me say goodbye,” he mutters to himself. 

He drags his feet over the threshold of the door, and it's like the exhaustion of the whole night drapes over him at once. The rave, Romelle, his friends, the revel, Shiro, fae, _dragon_ —

The fabric of his tunic and boots fall apart with every step, dissipating like cotton candy in water. Keith soon stands naked in his home. He doesn’t even bother going to his closet; he just meanders through the room and falls into bed with a groan. Something lights up at his nightstand. With bleary eyes, Keith squints, and sees his phone blowing up with text messages in the group chat. He is definitely not in the mood to deal with that right now. 

Next to his phone, is the dragon scale. 

Keith falls asleep staring at it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Rave Music](https://youtu.be/4BuYOZ6yJ8A)
> 
> [Revel Music](https://youtu.be/TLktGOWWgI4)
> 
> [@Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/swanhildedream?lang=en)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and commenting! It motivates me to write more!

_Some hid scars and some hid scratches  
__It made me wonder about their past  
__And as I looked around, I began to notice_  
_That we were nothing like the rest_  
Mountain Sound, Of Monsters and Men

*

Keith wakes up groggily the next morning, emerging from his cocoon of blankets with his hair in disarray. He squints at the red digital numbers on the clock; it is barely past eight. With a groan, he flops his head back on the pillow and curls his body. 

Every time he recalls a memory of last night, Keith tightens himself into a smaller ball. 

Is it possible to die of embarrassment? 

He wants to believe it was all a dream. A glance below the sheets, however, proves it wasn’t; he never sleeps naked. 

And the scale still sits on his nightstand, smooth and sharp and ready to be used to summon Shiro. Keith stares at it wistfully. The man, the fae, is a dragon. He has horns and wings and fangs. And he saved Keith once again. Shiro could have just let Keith die there, dancing until his feet bled out. It would have released Shiro from his owed favor. But he didn’t. He didn’t even let Keith blurt out the first stupid request that he thought of. 

The more Keith dwells on it, the less he understands. 

Just who is Shiro?

His fingers reach out and brush the scale reverently, when his phone lights up with a new notification. Keith sighs. He hasn’t seen nor spoken to any of the group since they randomly jumped him because of the nymph’s residual magic. It wasn’t their fault, but he still feels a little weird at the thought of seeing them again after… all that.

Picking up the phone, he scrolls through the messages. They must have all separated at some point last night because they were texting each other in panic, trying to meet up somewhere. He flicks his thumb past their misadventures in reuniting. 

The most recent message is from a minute ago.

> Nadia: Keith, I don’t even know where to begin. We understand completely if you don’t want to see us anymore. But we all want to extend a request to each apologize to you in person, if you’re able. Can we meet somewhere?

Keith stares at his screen. So they remember, and they feel guilty. He types back:

> Sure. 

*

They agree to meet in the quad of the science building, as the halfway point between Keith’s place and the rest of their dorms. Trees and bushes are meticulously trimmed in patterns along the perimeter, providing a charming scenery for the walkways and benches that complement them. 

Keith enters from one side of the building to see the group already waiting for him, all packed tightly in a wrought iron bench framed by terracotta pots holding wilted flowers. None of them speak to each other, keeping their eyes cast down to their hands in their laps. Keith has never seen them look so uncomfortable. 

He approaches them carefully, hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

Four heads jerk up. They stare at one another for several long seconds, no one brave enough to speak first. Ryan glances to James, who turns his eyes to Ina, who then looks at Nadia. Nadia sighs. 

“Keith…” 

“We are so sorry,” they all cry out at once, making him jump. 

“If you don’t want to be friends with us anymore, we understand,” says James, averting his eyes. 

“We don’t really know what came over us,” says Ryan.

“We are very sorry for sexually assaulting and molesting you,” says Ina. 

James nudges her shoulder and mutters under his breath, “Ina, I think he knows what we’re apologizing for.”

“Guys,” Keith finally says, taking pity on them, “It’s okay—,”

“It’s really _not_ okay, and while this is _not_ an excuse, we’ve done a lot of thinking since last night and we may have found an explanation for our behavior,” Nadia declares emphatically. 

Keith raises his eyebrows. 

“We think we were drugged,” says Ryan. 

“With Ecstasy,” adds Nadia. 

Keith is speechless. 

“Methylenedioxymethamphetamine, also known as MDMA or more colloquially Ecstasy or Molly,” Ina says in one breath, “is an amphetamine and psychoactive drug that can alter the state of one’s mind. Common effects include a sense of euphoria, socialization, and…” she drifts off.

When no one else says anything, Ina quietly finishes, “Enhanced sensations. Of the sexual nature.” 

“It makes people horny,” states Nadia.

_“Nadia,”_ Ryan warns.

“It’s apparently a common rave drug,” says James. “So that’s why we think that’s what happened.”

Keith is silent, unsure of what to say. The reality is he knows the truth: they _were_ drugged, in a way, but not on something human made. It was a faerie enchantment. But how can he even begin to explain that to them?

“The problem is,” James continues, “we haven’t figured out _how_ we got it in our systems.”

The four of them all exchange looks. 

“None of us drank or ate anything from the rave that night,” says Ryan. 

“Maybe someone threw a powder at our faces and we snorted it?” offers Nadia.

“I would have remembered something like that happening,” says James flatly. 

“Perhaps we were injected with a syringe without noticing,” ventures Ina.

Everyone turns to look at her.

“Is what I would say, if methylenedioxymethamphetamine could be consumed through injection,” she finishes. “Which I could find no evidence of in my research.”

They continue to shoot ideas back and forth, some plausible, some ridiculous, before Keith finally has enough.

_“Guys,”_ he interrupts forcefully. 

They all fall silent, shrinking into themselves in submission. 

Keith continues calmly, “I already said that it’s okay. I know it was something out of your control, and none of you actually feel that way about me.”

They shift in their seats. 

“He’s right,” says Ina. “Last night I inexplicably burned for you with the passion of a thousand suns, but right now as I look at you I feel nothing but platonic affection.”

“Yeah,” adds Nadia, “I totally wanted to climb you like a tree, but now that feeling is just, _‘poof,’_ gone. It’s so weird.”

James crosses his arms and says nothing, his cheeks red. Ryan just nods. 

“So what I’m saying is,” Keith says, blushing at the previous comments, “you’re all forgiven. And if it’s okay, I’d like to keep hanging out with you.”

One by one, they all look up with wide eyes of disbelief. 

“Really?”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh good! I’m so glad!” Nadia jumps up from her seat. “I’m so relieved, you have _no_ idea. This whole thing has been _killing_ us.” She throws her arms around Keith in a hug, before pulling away after a moment. “Wait, sorry.” She holds her hands up in apology. “Probably too soon for PDA.”

Keith shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

The rest stand up and gather around Keith, all smiling. He feels himself returning their smile, completely unthreatened. 

*

Life somewhat goes back to normal after that.

Keith attends classes. He hangs out with his friends. He works on settling down in his cottage. He makes friends with the orange tabby that drinks from his milk bowl. Keith names it Eddie.

The only major difference is that every night, he holds the obsidian scale in his hands, and wonders about Shiro. 

No matter how much he thinks, Keith really can’t come up with any favor he wants from the dragon. He just wants to know how Shiro is doing. If he’s happy, now. 

Shiro had said Keith not only saved his life, but gave him the chance to redeem himself. Keith still doesn’t know what he meant by that. 

He just has so many questions. And while Keith may have the means to summon Shiro, he fears it may be the last time he ever sees him. He wants to save it. 

The leaves reach their pinnacle of pretty colors and then die in a dirt brown. They fall off branches, leaving trees naked in the brisk air. Bugs starve and die. Animals hide in holes. The sky is perpetually overcast in dull grey. Autumn becomes still and empty in preparation for winter. 

It is Halloween night. 

Keith finds himself spending the night hanging out with his friends on a playground in the downtown’s residential district. Old Victorian style townhouses line the streets bunched together, each painted a different bright color. Some have Halloween decorations, with jack-o-lanterns on concrete stoops and bat stickers on the etched glass paneling of their front doors. Others stay dark with their porch lights off. Parents accompany costumed children door to door, holding on their stubby hands up the steps and ringing doorbells too tall for them. Keith sees dinosaurs, superheroes, princesses, animals, and all sorts of cartoon characters from shows he never watched. 

He stands next to his friends, hands in the pockets of his red leather jacket. Nadia spins in place on a swing set, the rust on the chain links staining her fingers. Ryan sits next to her, toeing the dirt as he idly swings back and forth and does things with his camera Keith doesn’t understand. James hangs on to the blue monkey bars to see how long he can hold on, feet swaying, while Ina stands at his side updating him on his percentile chances of falling. Nadia had gotten them all a little something for the holiday, and they all sport devil horned headbands or bunny ears and the like. Keith himself wears black cat ears. 

There’s probably a real person out there with cat ears, he thinks to himself. 

A cold brisk wind makes Keith hunch into his jacket, bringing the smell of pine leaves and pumpkins. His breath gusts out in mist. A motion-sensor scarecrow screeches at a group of teenagers, who trip over themselves to run away. A house party a few houses down has people playing corn hole and bobbing for apples. 

He’s watching James slowly lose his grip while snapping at Ina to stop blowing his concentration, when something catches Keith’s attention out of the corner of his eye. 

A child, no more than five and dressed as a videogame character, runs across the sidewalk to his parents with tears in his eyes. He pulls at his tongue desperately. His face is red. His parents crouch down to see what’s wrong, and Keith hears him yelling.

“Hot! Hoooooot!”

His parents find chocolate in his mouth. They storm up to the house that gave him the candy and bang on the door. The confused residents come out, and the parents accuse them of giving out spicy chocolate. The residents don’t know what the parents are talking about. They get into a full blown argument while the child cries and cries. 

At the party a few houses down, a crowd gathers around a drunk college student who just bobbed for apples. He’s screaming something about biting into a rotten apple filled with live spiders. 

A group of costumed teenagers walking down the street suddenly gasp and cry out in shock as their clothes become soaked to the bone. Their teeth chatter as they try to figure out who dumped water on them, huddling together for warmth.

“Wow, the pranks are out in full swing tonight,” Nadia observes, kicking her feet up. “I thought Mischief Night was _last_ night.”

“Kids,” sighs Ryan. 

Keith doesn’t respond. He’s still and wide-eyed, because he just spotted a group of fae. 

They’re a block away, gathered by an old oak tree, laughing amongst themselves. Keith can’t make out what they’re saying from this distance, but their skin glitters a bit too much, their limbs a bit too long. A strange mystical energy Keith can’t explain surrounds them, and he knows, instinctively, that they are fae. He would bet his life on it. 

He stares for a moment, hesitant. The last time he approached a faerie, they tried to spirit him away forever. He should stay far away from beings he knows not of. 

But, the voice in his head points out, they might also know about Shiro. 

It takes no time at all for Keith to decide that the risk is worth it. He doesn’t know when he’ll ever get such a chance again. 

He starts off toward the group of fae.

“Keith?”

He turns to see his friends looking at him. “Where you going?”

“I, uh…” Keith glances toward the fae, then back. “I saw… someone.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, but apparently enough. They let him go without comment. 

He walks up the block toward the oak tree, face set in determination. The oak is a very old tree, with a trunk too thick to wrap his arms around and surrounded by a small black iron fence. A placard dates the tree and notes its history. 

Standing behind the fae, Keith studies their appearance. 

There’s three of them. One big, one small, and one tall and skinny. The big one has a dark complexion and what appears to be quartz crystals growing out of every joint, his skin glowing with mica. The small one is green, with hair like a bird’s nest and dressed in leaves colored in the state of autumn. The tall and skinny one has brown skin with a strange blue iridescence that appears when the light hits just right, and he wears a long sleeved tunic the color of sapphires. All three sport pointed ears that twitch together when Keith shouts. 

“Hey!”

Their laughing falls to a stop, and one by one they all turn to glance at him. 

Keith sets his jaw, fist clenched. 

“Uhh,” says the tall one, “can we help you?”

“Nice ears,” snickers the green one.

“You’re fae,” Keith states. 

The three stare at him in stunned silence. Keith keeps his guard up; he refuses to be manipulated like last time.

“What—what are you—what?” the big one begins to stammer, tripping over his words. He twiddles his large, rock encrusted thumbs together, producing a sound that grates Keith’s ears. “What are you talking about, wow what a weird thing to say! Weird, totally weird, isn’t that right, guys? We are not—we—,” his face turns red as he tries to get the words out. “Who says we are fae? We look like humans. Right? We look just like your normal regular everyday humans that die—,”

“Yeah. We’re fae,” says the green one. 

_“PIDGE!!”_ the other two shriek. 

She pushes her glasses, made of twigs and the bottoms of broken glass bottles, up her nose. “We’re _dressed_ as fae. These are our All Hallow’s Eve costumes. Congrats, genius. You figured us out.” She crosses her arms, looking smug.

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t have time for this. I’m looking for a sárkány named Shiro.”

That wipes the smirk off her face. Once again, he shocks them into speechlessness. Their wide eyes shift and glance at each other.

“Uh,” says the big rock, “am I wigging out or did that human just mention the murderous dragon the queen just pardoned by name.”

“Hunk!” hisses Pidge. With a sigh, she meets Keith’s eyes. “Alright. You clearly know more than the average human. But what makes you think we know this ‘Shiro?’ Just because we’re fae doesn’t mean we know all faeries around here.”

“That one knows something, at least,” Keith points out, nodding toward Hunk. “He just said something about him being pardoned by a queen. For what?”

The blue one scoffs. “Gee, killing hundreds of his own kind from the other side?” he mutters. 

The words take a long time to settle in Keith’s brain as Pidge groans _“Lance,”_ and puts her face in her hands. “Let’s just tell him everything we know for _free,_ while we’re at it!”

The blue one—Lance, and Hunk look properly cowed. 

“Okay. Look. If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to give us something in exchange.” 

“Fine,” Keith says without hesitation, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket. “What do you want? Money?” He pulls out a bill. 

The fae all exchange a look, and then burst out laughing. “Are you trying to insult us?” Lance jeers. “Your human money is no good to us.”

Keith scowls, and puts his wallet away. “What, then.”

“Let’s see…” Pidge taps a finger the color of fern to her chin. “How about we send you on a little quest? Shouldn’t take long, not if you’re clever. We will each tell you something we want. You gather them for us, and meet us at the bonfire.”

“The bonfire at the track field?” Keith asks, blinking. “Won’t that be filled with humans?”

“We are glamoured. Though for some reason you saw through it.” Pidge shrugs. “We can just say we are dressed up for All Hallow’s Eve if anyone else has the Sight. It’s not technically a lie.”

“Alright. Deal.” Keith clenches his jaw. “But no funny business. No spiriting me away to dance until I die.”

“You’re really not in the position to order _us_ around,” Lance says with a sharp, toothy grin. “Three faeries against one human… odds are not in your favor.”

“Lance, be nice,” Hunk chides, then says to Keith, “We’re not looking for your soul. We just want some basic, simple things. I, for example, want a Draught of Productivity.”

Keith lifts an eyebrow. “A what, now?”

“You know, a potion that, when consumed, increases work output.” Hunk gestures with his hand, the mica catching the lights of lampposts. “Alchemy is my hobby. I’d love to reverse engineer that kind of mixture.”

“Okay…” Keith looks to Lance. “What do you want?”

Lance puffs out his chest. “The kiss of a fair virgin.”

Both Keith and Pidge make a face. “Ew,” says Pidge. 

Lance deflates. “What’s that noise for?!”

“Did you _have_ to specify virgin? You _have_ to defile some poor girl with your grossness?”

“It’s not gross! It’s an allegory of the inevitable loss of innocence in adolescence!” Lance defends.

_“Whatever,”_ Keith presses, cutting in as Pidge opens her mouth to argue, “just tell me the final item.”

Pidge gives Lance one last side-eye before shrugging at Keith. “You got a cell phone?”

Keith stares at her. “Yeah?”

Pidge gives a pleased look. “I just want to see it.”

“Just… see it?” He furrows his brow. “You don’t want to keep it?”

“Nah. Just let me have it for the duration of your questions. Then I’ll give it back.”

“Done.” Keith doesn’t feel particularly threatened over letting someone else tinker with his cell phone, like other people may. He barely uses it except to text his friends, check his class syllabi, and take pictures. He doesn’t even have social media. Besides, he figures the fae is just curious, and won’t even know what to do with it. She looks like a creature of nature, not anything fluent in technology. 

“Good.” The three fae stand close to one another, lips curling in satisfaction. “We will wait for you at the bonfire,” they all say at once. 

Then, they disappear. One by one, they burst into faerie dust, letting themselves be carried off in the wind, toward the college campus.

Or, perhaps they just glamoured themselves into invisibility. Keith is pretty sure he can see the air distort around their figures as they sneak past him. He stares ahead, deadpan, allowing them to sneak by without comment. 

When he’s sure they’re gone, Keith takes a deep breath of chilled air, exhaling through his teeth. 

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

*

A Draught of Productivity, the kiss of a fair virgin, and his phone. 

His phone is the easiest, so Keith only has to worry about two items. He walks down the street, eyes to the ground and deep in thought. The later it gets, the more adult costumes he passes by; Playboy Bunnies and slutty priests and slave Leia’s. His shoes scuff at a loose piece of sidewalk concrete, kicking it toward a sewer drain littered with candy wrappers and coupon magazines. 

Humans don’t make _potions,_ he thinks. How is he supposed to get one? A drink that increases work output… gives people more energy…

Oh.

Coffee.

The rock fae wants coffee.

Keith makes a face, wondering why the fae didn’t just _say_ he wanted coffee instead of giving it a fantastical magic name like Draught of Productivity. Trying to make it harder on him, Keith supposes.

Well, at least getting coffee is easy. 

Keith searches on his phone for the nearest place to find some. There’s an indie bookstore with a café about half a mile away, so he starts off there. He walks in silence, wracking his brain for ideas on the final item. By the time he enters through the ornate vintage double doors of the bookstore, he has a vague idea. 

The store smells like new books and freshly ground beans. There’s a reading event going on in the back corner, with costumed children gathered in a circle around one of the store workers as they read from a Halloween themed book. College students sequester themselves in reading nooks with their laptops open, typing away at papers. The floorboards are old and groan with every step Keith makes. 

The café is little more than a stand with some small tables and chairs. Keith orders their strongest sounding roast with a double espresso shot. He wants to make sure Hunk _really_ _feels_ the caffeine. The tired barista goes through the motions of grinding the beans and mixing, and then hands Keith his drink with a napkin after he pays. 

He leaves the store, letting the coffee warm his hands as he begins to make his way back to the playground. Keith doubts he can just find a girl who is a virgin and willing to kiss a total stranger, especially without any explanation as to _why._ He rubs his thumb against the knuckle of his index finger as he thinks. The napkin crinkles in his hand. 

Keith has an idea, but pulling it off is going to be difficult. 

He shoots a text to the group chat to find out they went back to campus and stopped at a food truck in the college’s main quad. It’s already near where the bonfire will be, so he doesn’t have to go out of his way anywhere. He heads on over, hoping the coffee will still be warm enough by the time he meets the faeries. 

His friends are sitting on a circular stone bench that surrounds a tree, several yards away from the truck. Keith approaches them. They’re each nibbling on a caramel apple. 

“Keith!” Nadia waves him over. “We would have gotten you one if we knew you were coming back.”

“It’s fine,” he says. 

“We were just talking about what we should name the group chat for November,” says Ryan. “We always use the acronym MFE, if you have any suggestions.”

“My Fat Echidna,” offers James. 

“Motherfucking Eggs,” presses Nadia. 

“Milk For Everyone,” says Ryan. 

“We already used Milk For Everyone in June of 2015,” Ina points out, then bites into her apple. 

Keith doesn’t have time for this. He tries to remember the segues he practiced in his head on the way over. 

“I should bond with you guys more,” he blurts, “who here is a virgin?”

Everyone falls silent and stares at Keith for a long time. Belatedly, he realizes he forgot the line about playing twenty questions first. 

“Uh.” Ryan shifts awkwardly. “Keith are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting—,”

“Nadia and Ina are virgins,” James supplies, hooking a thumb over to the two girls. 

“HEY!” Nadia screeches. 

“I’m not,” says Ina. 

James looks smug, then furrows his brow as he looks to Ina. “Wait—what?”

“I’ve had sex,” she says calmly. 

“Since when? Where? With who?!”

_“Whomst?!”_

“Last year. Graduation party. Taylor McAllister.” Ina taps the caramel apple to her lips and gives a small smile. “It was nice.”

“And you didn’t even tell us?” Ryan shakes his head in disappointment. “That’s basic bro code, Ina. You tell your bros about losing that V card.”

“Yeah well, maybe we don’t ascribe to the patriarchal concept of virginity,” Nadia huffs, crossing her arms. “It’s an outdated social construct about the commodification of women.”

James says, “Okay virgin.”

Nadia throws herself at him and they slap at each other like children, falling off the stone bench. 

Keith _really_ doesn’t have time for this.

“Nadia you have caramel on your face,” he shouts out loudly and all but shoves past James to get his napkin on her.

“Whuh?”

Keith wipes over her lips once before drawing back. He glances down to make sure he caught at least the vague shape of a mouth from her tinted chapstick and pockets the napkin in one fluid movement. 

James and Nadia have stopped their wrestling in favor of staring at Keith, blinking owlishly. Keith can feel Ina and Ryan’s eyes on him as well. 

Keith looks back and forth between everyone. 

“Good talk,” he finally says. “I gotta go.”

And with that, he turns and bolts. 

“Do you think he is perhaps inebriated,” he hears Ina wondering aloud.

*

The track field is on the other side of campus, next to the tennis courts and swimming pool. Keith’s shoes scuff over short cropped grass as he makes his way toward the center, where earlier in the day a group of people set up a teepee of logs and sticks. Keith supposes that explains why there’s always been a bald spot in the middle of the field. 

The fire has already been lit and, guessing by the subdued attention of people, has been going on for quite a while. Several continue to watch, entranced by the dancing flames as they stand close to warm themselves, but most of the audience huddle close together to socialize. Many hold hot chocolate or hot apple cider. The blaze is at least twice as tall as Keith, heating his cheeks even from a distance. The smell of burning wood fills his lungs. The bonfire cracks and pops loudly, even above the din of attendants. 

Keeping the coffee held close to his chest, Keith meanders around groups of people in search of the faeries. He circles around the perimeter once, even twice, but has yet to spot the three, not even amongst another group. For a moment, he wonders if he was just sent on a wild goose chase. 

Annoyed, he reaches in his pocket and takes out his phone, pinning the napkin with Nadia’s lip mark to it with his thumb. He holds up the coffee and looks at all three items in his hands. 

These are his keys to finding out more about Shiro. He _has_ to find out what Lance meant by murdering his own kind. 

He knows _what_ Shiro is. But just who _is_ Shiro?

As he muses, a huge gust of frigid wind suddenly hits Keith from behind. He hunches over on instinct, sloshing the coffee as his hair billows around his face. The napkin blows free from his hand, away from Keith and, to his horror, toward the gigantic fire. 

“Shit!”

He runs after the napkin. It flutters around clusters of people, no one noticing the piece of trash but sending Keith glares as he shoves through them. But as fast as he is, he can’t outrun the wind. He watches helplessly as the napkin flies into the direction of the bonfire. 

In one last act of desperation, he reaches out. 

At the same time, a plume of fire bursts out from the teepee, inexplicably against the force of the wind. Tongues of flame appear almost finger-like as it grasps at the napkin. The flimsy piece of paper doesn’t stand a chance. It combusts immediately, curling in over itself as the fire consumes and turns it to ash in the blink of an eye. 

His kiss of a fair virgin is gone. 

Keith stares at the spot it disappeared for a long time. 

All that time he spent running around town, humiliating himself in front of his friends, and for what? 

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle with energy as he senses someone approaching. The fae. 

He grits his teeth. He doesn’t have _time_ to get another one! 

“Since you’re here, I’m guessing you’ve completed your quest for us?” says Pidge, wearing a self-satisfied mien. Behind her stands Hunk and Lance, still looking too beautiful and strange to be human. 

Briefly, Keith wonders if one of them has the power to control the wind. 

He turns around and faces them, resolved. He has an idea. “Yeah. I got everything you asked for.” Keith reaches in his pocket for his phone first. 

The green fae grins, and holds her hands out expectantly. Her fingers are cracked like the bark of trees. 

Keith narrows his eyes. “I want to hear you _say_ you’ll give this back when you’re done.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “Ugh, fine. We will tell you what you want to know after you give us our boon, and I will return your phone when you have finished asking questions.” She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrow. “Happy?”

“Elated,” Keith deadpans, and tosses his cell to her. 

She catches it swiftly with a laugh that sounds like “ufufufu,” and immediately unlocks it, thumbs flying across the screen like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Not even a passcode?” She tuts to herself. “You are just asking for this.”

Hunk looks unnerved. “You are _way_ too tech savvy for your given nature,” he says. 

“I reject my given nature,” Pidge says without looking up. 

Next, Keith holds out the coffee to Hunk. “You know,” he says when Hunk takes it gingerly, “there are recipes out there for these, and just about anyone can make it, not just alchemists or whatever. You can just go to a coffee shop.”

“Oh, I know.” Hunk holds the cup daintily between two of his large fingers and takes a small sip with a satisfied ‘ahh.’ “But it’s more fun this way.”

Keith falls silent, not looking at Lance. But the blue fae is obnoxious and pops into Keith’s line of sight, making an irritating simper. 

“Soooo,” Lance drawls. “Saved the best for last, huh? I get it, I get it. I’m a patient guy. Now.” He turns his head this way and that, studying the girls around them. “Which one is she? Is she the blonde? Oh! The goth?” He rubs his hands together eagerly. “Where’s my kiss? My cute little peck? Where’s my smoochie smoo—,”

Keith grabs Lance’s head with both hands and crushes his lips against his. 

“MMFFFF—,”

Pidge snaps a picture with Keith’s cell phone. 

Lance flails his arms wildly before finally collecting his senses and shoving Keith away. Keith wipes his mouth, shooting Lance a fierce glare. 

“You—what did you—! _I said a kiss from a fair virgin!”_ Lance screeches, pointing at Keith accusatively. 

Keith crosses his arms. “You didn’t say a _female_ virgin.”

The fae looks like he’s been struck. “B-but fair! I said _fair!_ What about you is fair?!”

“I’ve been called ‘pretty boy’ more times than I can count,” Keith says defensively. 

“AUGH!” Lance grabs at his own hair in despair, shouting at the sky. “My pure, beautiful lips! They’ve been soiled! Who will possibly accept my dowry now?!”

“Lance stop being so dramatic,” says Pidge flatly. “People are staring.”

The irritating fae only continues his wailing.

“He’s just annoyed he got bamboozled,” Hunk explains to Keith quietly. “Not because you’re a guy. I’ve seen him with plenty of male faeries before.”

“I don’t care,” grits Keith, gripping his arm tight. “Look, I got you guys everything you asked for. It’s time you held up your part of the bargain.”

Like a light switch Lance finally ceases his caterwauling, face turning serious as he draws back to his fellow faes’ sides. They all stand in a single line, sharing the same grin. 

“Alright. So.” Pidge glances up from the phone long enough for her bottle glasses to flash. “You got questions. We got answers. Ask as many as you like.”

Keith gives them a look of disbelief, and then gestures angrily to their surroundings. “Are you _kidding_ me? You _just_ got the attention of everyone around us! How are you supposed to tell me anything with so many people watching?”

“Settle down, Cat Ears,” Pidge drawls. “Which, by the way, really offensive to some fae. Anyway, if any mortal can actually hear what we’re saying, they’ll just think we’re talking about some videogame or something.”

“What is a videogame,” Hunk whispers to Lance, who shrugs. 

Keith can’t exactly call himself moffilied, but he supposes if they’re not worried then he has no reason to be either. “Alright. Fine.” He fixes them all with a studying stare. “Then first, tell me what type of fae you all are.”

“Okay wow first of all, _rude,”_ says Lance, wagging a finger at him. “You really need to learn proper faerie etiquette.”

Hunk is more sympathizing. “Aw, he can’t help it, he’s a human that’s decaying as we speak. I’d throw much more caution to the wind if I had such a tragically short life, myself.” He smiles kindly. “I am a gnome. A fae of the earth.”

“Dryad,” Pidge supplies, “but I am _not_ telling you my tree. That is a step beyond rudeness.” She squints at Keith’s phone. “Not even any social media? Seriously? What kind of loser…” 

“I,” Lance cuts in before Keith can object, “am one of the most graceful and beautiful type of fae out there. Mortal men would die for a simple glimpse upon us. Women trade their souls for even a drop of our blessing. We have started wars and drowned cities on our whims. I… am an _undine.”_ Lance puffs out his chest in pride.

Keith and Lance stare at each other for a long time, Lance obviously waiting for Keith to be awed. “You could at least _bow,”_ he murmurs out of the side of his mouth.

“No,” says Keith. 

The undine makes noises of outrage and offense as Hunk steps in. “Well, enough about us. You’re here because you want to know about the sárkány.”

Keith nods, hope rising in his chest.

Hunk’s demeanor relaxes, changing into something that looks like pity. “Well, before we start, I figure I should warn you that it’s really in your best interest to stay away from him. I don’t know what all you know yet, but he is… not the same person he was a long time ago.”

Keith doesn’t know how to respond to that. “Who was he a long time ago?” he says slowly. 

“The head of the queen’s personal guard, back when she was a princess,” answers Pidge, thumbs still typing away. “He was quiet and kept to himself, but it was well known that he had a human lover.”

Keith feels the world stop. 

“Now, we’re not _friends_ with Sir Shirogane or anything,” says Lance, crossing his long arms and cocking a hip to the side. “We just know bits and pieces of what happened thanks to the juicy gossip mongers at court.”

“Of which I am proud to call myself a part of,” says Hunk. 

“So it all started when… wait, you _do_ know about the two courts, right?” Pidge asks, glancing up and raising an eyebrow. 

Keith shifts. He’s still numb from the earlier revelation. “Not exactly,” he admits. 

Pidge sighs. “Okay, you must be one of his… anyway, on this side of the country there are two main Faerie Courts: the Seelie and the Unseelie. Hunk, Lance, and I are of the Seelie Court. And so was Sir Shirogane.” She frowns. “We had a king. He was honorable and just, and kept peace between the two courts for centuries. We are like Light and Dark, Day and Night, Yin and Yang. Separated, but balanced. One could not exist without the other, that type of thing.”

“So…” Keith guesses, “the Seelie Court is the good fae and the Unseelie Court is the bad fae?”

“Oh, I _definitely_ wouldn’t say that,” laughs Lance, his teeth sharp. “We faeries don’t exactly share the same set of morals as you humans.”

“Anyway,” Pidge continues, “the courts thrived this way for eons, until one of our own defected to the other side. The king fell in love with her and they had a child. A fae who is half Seelie and half Unseelie, something that has never happened before.” Her face turns grim. “Before, the Unseelie King was fine with keeping the balance between our courts. But as his child grew up, the king grew lustful for power. He wanted to expand his territory, conquer other courts, and…” With a grimace, she falls silent. 

The gnome places a hand on her shoulder. “He had our king assassinated,” he finishes for her. “By poisoning his crown.”

“And then the Unseelie King almost immediately attacked, before we even had the chance to coronate our princess,” says Lance. “We have been at war ever since.”

It’s a lot to take in. How could all this be going on without humans any the wiser? 

“That first battle after the assasination though, is where your sárkány comes in.” Pidge finally lowers the phone to give the conversation her full attention. “Our king had hardly fallen before King Zarkon—that’s the Unseelie King—took advantage of our grief and confusion and launched an attack on our court. Sir Shirogane famously gathered warriors and managed to strategize a defense, and then counterattack. Thanks to him, we were able to fight off the Unseelie and protect our princess. They retreated.”

The three fae fall silent.

“What,” Keith presses. “Then what?”

“When the dust finally settled, we realized they had captured him,” says Hunk. “The Unseelie had taken Sir Shirogane as prisoner.”

Keith feels a shiver, despite the roaring bonfire. He suddenly remembers the first time he saw Shiro, alone amongst a group of fae arguing over Keith’s body parts. The coldness in his eyes. The iron band around his face. 

“King Zarkon never offered ransom for Sir Shirogane. And without him, our power was weakened. We couldn’t go get him back. So we crowned Queen Allura, and put all our resources into staying alive. Resisting. ‘Keeping our heads above water,’ as the mortals would say.”

“We had a few more battles. Mostly defense against the Unseelie trying to push themselves into our territory. We heard rumors that Sir Shirogane was being forced to fight in King Zarkon’s morbid coliseum arena. Queen Allura held onto hope that her most trusted knight could be rescued. But then…”

“Then Sir Shirogane started showing up at the battles. Fighting _for_ the Unseelie.” Lance’s expression shifts into a glower, filled with such anger even Keith steps back. “He has killed hundreds of us. _Thousands_ of us! His own people! For years we were frightened that King Zarkon would finally defeat us. And then earlier this season Sir Shirogane just _comes back_ out of nowhere, and instead of having him immediately executed for his crimes, Queen Allura _pardons_ him! And accepts him back to her side as her personal guard! What kind of justice is that?!”

“Lance,” Hunk says gently, “calm down.”

Lance’s hands are fists at his sides. He glares at the ground like he can make it combust like the fire nearby. 

“That is what we know,” says Pidge. “And clearly, some of us aren’t thrilled with the queen’s decision. But that is why I think there’s more going on.”

Hunk nods. “I personally think that King Zarkon somehow obtained Sir Shirogane’s heart name.”

“What is that?” asks Keith.

“Ugh, you really don’t know _anything,”_ mutters Pidge in exasperation. “This is dangerous information to give, but… as long as you don’t try to get ours, it should be fine. Basically every faerie has a face name, and a heart name. Face names are what we call each other. Heart names are our ‘true’ names, so to speak. Our _full_ name. If you have it your way, no one would _ever_ know your heart name.”

“Why?”

“Because—,”

“Oh come on, are we _seriously_ going to tell him?” Lance throws his hands in the air. “All he needs to know is that we don’t give out our heart names. That’s all.”

“You said,” Keith says through gritted teeth, “that you would answer any questions that I have if I did your stupid quest.”

The fae fall silent.

“He’s right,” Hunk says quietly. “We did say that.”

“It controls us,” Pidge says quickly, as if she can speed past the words before Keith will notice. “You can make a faerie do anything if you have their heart name.”

“UUUUUGGGHHH,” says Lance. 

“So then.” Keith steps forward. “That’s what’s happened, right? Zarkon got Shiro’s true name and made him kill his own people. That’s why your queen pardoned him and accepted him back at her side. He didn’t _want_ to do any of that stuff.”

“It’s not that simple, human,” says Hunk. “If King Zarkon really has Sir Shirogane’s heart name, then keeping him near Queen Allura is a bad, bad, _bad_ idea. He’s like a ticking… whatever those things are.”

“Time bomb,” supplies Pidge. “He’s a _liability._ But the queen isn’t listening to any of her advisors. She trusts the knight with her life.”

“And it might just get her killed.” Lance looks incredibly displeased with the thought. 

“Sooo…” Hunk shrugs, the quartz at his shoulders clinking together. “That is pretty much the extent of our knowledge of him. Any more questions?”

Keith wants more than anything to just sit down and let himself absorb all of this new information. He’s sure he will have time to process later, alone in the comfort of his own home. But right now, there’s just one more thing he wants to know.

“What about his human lover? What happened to them?”

The three fae all share a look, as if wondering who should be the one to tell. 

It ends up being Pidge. She draws closer, birds’ nest hair flowing in the cold wind. Despite being dressed in nothing more than leaves, she doesn’t shiver. The dryad hands over Keith’s phone, expression commiserative.

“Sir Shirogane killed him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/swanhildedream?lang=en)
> 
> [Fan Soundtrack](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj8xOJorZTotjiWCwIwX7H7Q6FPjFz_GK)


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